The Madness Of Cadmea or, The Lunatic Couturier
by JulieJules
Summary: Cadmea was a good girl, a good daughter. She was supposed to marry Jefferson, merge their families houses, and live happily ever after - but Jefferson yearned to have his freedom. Cadmea's world collapses, but her love is True - she still sacrifices all to save him from Death. A deal with the Dark One later, and Amnesia and Insanity seem a small price to pay for his happiness.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my constantly wandering imagination - and maybe Cadmea. :)_

* * *

 _ **The Madness Of Cadmea; or, The Lunatic Couturier**_

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ONE

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When Cadmea Metaxas turned fifteen, she was told by her father that she would soon be married off to the Milliner's son. The news wasn't surprising - she'd known Jefferson from her birth, and they grown up around each other. Their families had always spoken of merging their two successful businesses, her father's Clothing House and Jefferson's father's Hattery and Millinery Shop.

Cadmea was actually excited and quite pleased - she and Jefferson were good friends, they were comfortable in each other's company, had common interests, and tended to stick together at gatherings. It also did not hurt that she'd secretly been in love with him ever since the winter when she was five and he was eight.

He had been visiting with his parents, the other family sheltering with them from a sudden blizzard when Cadmea's mother went into unexpected labor with her second child, and experienced severe complications. Her mother had been dying, but the families had been trapped inside by the uncanny snow storm, unable to go for a physician to help. Jefferson had been the one to finally escape the snow-bound house, once their fathers had managed to dig a small opening through one of the windows for him to fit through. He'd always had an adventurous spirit, and hadn't shown an ounce of fear in going out into the storm, though his mother had cried hysterical tears the whole time he'd been gone. Cadmea had cried right along with her, certain her sweet boy was going to get lost and die.

Within the hour he had returned, half-frozen and scraped bloody, but with the joyous news that several villagers with shovels and the doctor were en route.

Thanks to his bravery, her mother had been saved, although she'd tragically lost the infant boy she carried.

From that day on, Cadmea had always kept an eye and ear out for him, and went out of her way to spend time with him, which he never seemed to mind. She adored his exaggerated faces, his merry, twinkling blue-eyes, both his solemn nature and his often outrageous sense of humor. She craved the casual touches of his hands, memorized his striking features, and dreamt of his voice teasing her when she slept, and upon the announcement of their future marriage, she was more than thrilled - which made it all the more shocking to her when she overheard her new _fiance_ arguing with the parents in her father's study one day.

Creeping about and eavesdropping had been a harmless childhood pastime once - she didn't think twice about going to the polished wooden door and listening in when she was passing by and heard Jefferson's voice within. She'd smiled in anticipation at first, but quickly regretted her curiosity when she heard her sweet boy declare angrily, "Is it not _my_ life, _my_ choice? I have told you before I do not wish to marry Cadmea! Obviously I did not make myself clear enough!"

"Jefferson, we know you love her - "

"I do, but not _amorously_! I - this is ridiculous!" he paused, and Cadmea could envision him, exasperated and scowling darkly, rubbing a hand over his face. "She is like my little _sister_! How do you expect me to marry her and produce children when I have no physical attraction to her? You push my concerns aside so easily in your selfish race to unite your businesses! It's an insult, to _me_ and to _her_. It is patently unfair!"

"Jefferson, my lad, the decision was made long ago - you are both so precious to us, our _only_ children, and you've always been so close - we never thought to assume you would not return her affections. We always just assumed - "

"Yes, you _assumed_! That's the problem! You assumed I would stay in the village forever, content to work, day by day slowly poisoning myself with mercury in a boring old hattery for the rest of my life! You assumed I would happily wed whomever you wanted and never think twice about the needs or wants of my own heart! _You assumed too much!"_

Cadmea was stricken. He had said in that familiar, revered voice, that he did not want her.

"Jefferson, my _son_ , what are you saying?" asked his father faintly. He sounded alarmed.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time, but I honestly haven't had the nerve to tell you until now." Jefferson sighed raggedly. "I am leaving the village. I do not wish to inherit the shop. I have no desire to waste my youth making hats and gloves...a-and annoying, squalling, _useless_ reproductions of myself, and - "

" _Jefferson!"_ his mother cried, aghast.

"I am barely _seventeen_ , Mother, yet you would have me marry within the _year_!"

Cadmea bit the knuckle of her thumb painfully hard. She'd never heard Jefferson so hopelessly frustrated as he was in that moment, and it frightened her, made her consider that perhaps all she was hearing was _real_ \- and she just didn't know if she could bear that knowledge.

"I have seldom left this village, I've seen _nothing_ of the worlds beyond the forest, yet you are already determined I will live and die in _this_ place! No! I refuse! I will _not_ stay here, I will _not_ run the shop, and I sure as hell will _not_ be taking that poor, deluded, ignorant girl-child to my bed!"

"You are being needlessly cruel, Jefferson," Cadmea's mother said stiffly. "Think about her feelings - do they not factor into this at all? This rejection - it's not fair to her!"

" _Fair to her_ ," Jefferson repeated darkly. "Was it _fair_ to her to promise me to her without asking me first? Hell, did you even ask _her_? You offer her to me like a virgin sacrifice! You treat her as if she is cattle! Why not bring her to market then, with a sign detailing her attributes and worth - I'm sure some less-ambitious fellow than I would be glad to have her, if the businesses were offered as a generous dowry!"

A sudden loud slap echoed across the study, and the shocking silence that followed awoke Cadmea from her heartbroken stupor. As quietly as she could, she moved away from the door, and tip-toed through the hall to the kitchen to make her way up the back stairs to her room. Just as she reached the steps she heard the study door crash open, and she was thankful she hadn't tried to sneak up the main stair, or she definitely would've been caught, and she'd have died if that happened.

Cadmea reached her room without discovery and locked herself in with a shaking hand. She would have thrown herself upon the bed, but her body would not allow her to be still. She was ice-cold, teeth-chattering, shaken down to the bone. Hopelessness was a black hole in the core of her, devouring her warmth from the inside out.

She wrapped her arms around herself and paced, waiting for the blinding streams of tears that would surely come and choke her, but her wide eyes remained painfully dry, and all she could do was stare and stumble back and forth across the floor. Her thoughts were frantic and tangled.

Jefferson did not want her.

' _He thinks I am dull, as complacent as the cattle in the fields…'_

' _Why did I never notice his contempt?'_

He was too gentlemanly, too kind, he would never say such things...to her face.

' _He pities me…he looks on me as a child, as a sister…he thinks I am a blind fool, and I am!'_

Oh, god, the utter humiliation of it all! The _wretchedness_ she felt!

Cadmea's strength finally left her, and she collapsed where she stood, neck unable to support her head. She gazed dumbly at the floor, sobbing out desperate breaths as she struggled to come to terms with the fact that the love of her life just simply did not want her.

"Oh, Jefferson...I swear that my love is so pure, so true," she whispered, closing her eyes. She could feel the truth of it, the warmth, a golden light surrounding her beating heart. "It is unselfish and unbreakable. I would do anything for you, I promise. Anything, my sweet boy. I will even...let you _go_. Take your freedom and run far from here, I wish you adventure and fulfillment, happiness and wealth. Only _be_ safe…"

' _God, please, beyond all else, please let him be safe_ …'

The tears finally came then, and never in her life had she been so grateful not to have her parents call her to dinner, because she could not have bluffed her way through it. She was aching and raw and if her love was unbreakable, _she_ certainly was not.

* * *

When the morning came, Cadmea awoke to numbness, and she was grateful. She washed and dressed, and went down to breakfast as if nothing was wrong in her world. She pasted a smile onto her face, and if her mother commented on her puffy eyes and red lips it was from nothing but a bit of dust she'd accidentally raised the night before when looking under her bedstead for a misplaced book.

Her parents were assured by her act, but said nothing of Jefferson's visit the evening before. She was attempting to force down a bowl of peaches and porridge when a knock came upon the back door. Her parent's exchanged worried glances, and Cadmea's bruised heart lurched against her ribs as if trying to break free of it's cage in desperate denial.

Cadmea stood, offering to get the door nonchalantly, and walked from the small dining room into the kitchen. She stood before the wooden door, all that was separating her from the end of her innocent life, clenching her fists for courage until her nails painfully broke the skin. She threw the door open with a welcoming smile.

"Jefferson! What are you doing here so early in the morning? Business with father? Is that a new top hat? It's quite dashing!" she exclaimed cheerily at the handsome young man on the doorstep.

Jefferson's face was pale and unshaven as he expertly doffed his hat, a sleek, faintly patterned black construct with a crimson silk interior, a thick, black crepe band and a rakishly placed black crepe ribbon. He seemed tired, and there were dark smudges under his clouded, red-rimmed blue-eyes. His full lips were bright red and slick, and she could tell he'd been biting them repeatedly, she knew it was a tick of his that occurred when he was troubled. He was clearly unhappy...nervous.

She wanted to _die_.

"Morning, Cadmea," he mumbled quietly in greeting.

Cadmea knew what he was there for, but she was determined to make the whole pitiful experience as easy and quick as possible for him, even if it killed her. She attempted to dial her forced cheer back.

"Sweet boy - are you sick? You don't look well. Whatever is wrong?"

Jefferson bit his lip again, his tongue darting out over the friction-swollen spot, and he dropped his eyes, slowly turning his hat in his hands.

"I - Cadmea - " he cut himself off and gave a slight shake of his head, eyes shining and lips quirking in a regretful smile.

"Stay here - I'll grab my shawl and we'll step out for a walk, all right?" she said quickly, reaching out despite herself to squeeze his wrist reassuringly. She hurried away, grabbing her shawl and draping it over her shoulders as she returned to him, trying to ignore the wild tingle in her hand from touching a sliver of his warm skin. She could still feel the sparse, silky hair sliding along her palm…

They stepped outside into a chilly but sunny autumn morning, and Cadmea led him to the stone bench beneath the largest tree in her backyard.

"Please, tell me what has you so out of sorts."

Jefferson sat beside her, turning his body to face her, and continued to fiddle with his hat. He took to deftly spinning it between his fingers, steadying himself before he took a great breath and looked at her, eyes narrowing determinedly.

Cadmea's leg twitched in reaction to his nearness beneath her skirts, and bumped something - she looked down and saw a black leather traveling bag stuffed under the bench and her heart dropped. She saw his initial stamped across the strap in silver filligree and swallowed. He really was leaving.

"I-I didn't mean for you to see that," Jefferson moaned, dropping his face into one hand.

Cadmea swallowed painfully.

"You're leaving," she pointed out needlessly.

"I am," he sighed, head drooping even further.

Cadmea forced a smile. "I-it's okay, sweet boy," she said softly, then wanted to slap herself for using the endearment when he looked back at her with tears of regret swimming in his eyes.

"I think I can understand why you're here, like this."

Jefferson suddenly slid off the bench and knelt on one knee before her, new hat forgotten on the ground as he took her small, cold hands into his. He looked up at her earnestly.

"Cadmea, please, I beg you not to be hurt - it's just…" he chewed his lip, eyes flickering. "I must get away from here, from this village, it's _suffocating_ me. I must see what's out there, beyond the forest."

Cadmea's very soul shied away at the hopeful glint in his eyes. He was so handsome, so _young_ \- she feared for him. There were dark things out there.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't hurt," she told him quietly, but she smiled again, sadly, and squeezed his hands hard before dropping them - if she did not let go now, she never would. "I'll be okay."

She stood up and took several steps away from him, before turning back and motioning for him to get up off the damp ground. He did, and retrieved his hat.

"What did your parents say?"

Jefferson looked faintly green for a moment. He looked away, couldn't meet her eyes.

"They have...disowned me." He gave a dark laugh, mindlessly spinning the hat, tumbling it to and fro - finally he tipped it back onto his dark, short spiky curls and turned to grin humorlessly at her.

"They never want to see my ' _wretched face'_ again. They called me their greatest ' _shame'_." He held his arms out as if to say, _'Behold'_.

Cadmea bit her lip as it trembled. "They don't really believe that," she told him. "Don't believe that, Jefferson - you are their whole world," _and mine…_

Jefferson lifted his hands to grasp the lapels of his simple yet stunningly-cut dark grey suit. He must have dressed to suit his mood today, because his fingerless gloves, cravat, shirt and waistcoat all matched. He wore impeccably shined short black boots with his trousers tucked into them, and his long, high-collared duster was made of a weather-proofed dark gray suede. Smooth gray leather patches covered the elbows of his coat and the knees of his trousers. He was clearly off on a journey and dressed for it.

Cadmea felt underdressed in plain yet elegant blue morning gown, button-up boots and ivory shawl. She suddenly wished she'd taken more time with her tumbled brown hair. She pushed a mass out of her eyes impatiently.

"Well," Jefferson sighed,, rocking back on his heels, "it's not exactly as if I can argue the claim. I've dishonored myself and the family name."

"You _haven't_. You merely take advantage of your freedom such as all young men are wont to do. There is no shame in that. You are right to follow your heart, Jefferson, don't ever doubt that."

He looked at her gratefully, and stepped forward as if to take her hands again, but she dropped her eyes and took a step back. She couldn't bear his touch again, she just couldn't, she would dissolve in sobs and tears and beg him to stay, beg him pitifully to take her with him -

He stopped short of touching her cleared his throat awkwardly.

Cadmea decided to change the subject. "So, can I know where it is you shall journey to?"

Jefferson went back to the bench and sat down, taking the handle of his valise in hand. "You more than anyone deserve to know where I'm running away to," he told her, self-loathing evident in his voice. "I'm going to the coast, perhaps to board a ship there, or not, I haven't really planned it. This all happened kind of...suddenly."

Cadmea nodded. "Of course. _Jefferson_ , I - "

He darted a glance back up at her, head and hat tilting, dark, thick lashes surrounding eyes so blue and vulnerable they made her ache.

She licked her lips and took a deep breath and began again, hands twisting in the knotted ends of her shawl. "I have to know - was it something I did?"

He frowned. "Of course not."

"I-if I had been prettier, perhaps, or older? Maybe smarter, o-or more outspoken, would you have - " she cut herself off at the dawning dread in his eyes and shook her head.

"That...was a rude and unfair question of me to ask," she told him quietly, "Do not answer that. I apologize. This is...hard for me."

Jefferson stood up, valise in hand, and gave her look of unconstrained concern. "I know. I promise you, I'll never forgive myself for hurting you this way. You're my best friend, Cadmea."

Her name on his lips, her name in his husky voice for the last time almost broke her, but she smiled and selfishly stepped forward and went up on her toes to hug him tightly around the neck before backing away before he felt like he had to respond in kind. The warm scent of clean skin and leather teased her nose. She would fight the Dark One himself to be able to recall that smell in the hard times to come.

She ducked her head. "I will always care about you, Jefferson. Do not promise me that you'll only think of me with regret - promise me that if you ever do think of me, it will be with fondness instead. Remember that all I have ever wanted was your happiness, for you to smile at me and _live_. Promise me you will be careful. Be safe?" She looked up at him and her smile froze on her face.

Jefferson - the expression on his face was one of complete confusion. He had already decided to go and make his way on his own, but that look - he was suddenly, completely torn.

"Jefferson - "

He dropped the valise and took a huge stride forward, wrapping her in his arms and squeezing the breath from her. His breathing was heavy against her head, where he had tucked his nose into her hair.

"You are so brave, Cadmea Metaxas," he groaned against her ear, sending shivers up and down her spine. "I can only hope to one day be as selfless and brave as you."

"You _are_ brave, my sweet boy," she told him adamantly, shivering.

He shook his head against her, lifting one hand to gently cradle the back of her skull. "No, I am not. If I were truly brave and selfless, I wouldn't be walking away from you."

Cadmea tried hard to turn her sudden sob of agony into a laugh.

"Only the truly brave fight so hard for what they want," she said brokenly, and then turned her head and pressed her lips to his lean, rough cheek. She ducked quickly out of his embrace, and turned away, moving back across the yard to her home. She didn't want to look back, to see him walking away from her forever, but when she reached the doorstep she automatically turned.

He was still there, valise in one hand, hat in the other, and when she looked at him he gave her a formal bow, one hand with his valise curled behind his back, the other saluting her with his hat. When he straightened, he rakishly flipped the hat back onto his head, and smiled lopsidedly. He gave her a devastating, devilish wink.

Cadmea turned blindly and staggered stupidly against the door, fumbling desperately with the knob to get it open. She threw it open at last and found her parents on the other side, both crying openly for her obvious pain.

Regretful, for they really were very good, loving parents, she took a moment and hugged them tightly, forcing yet another smile before excusing herself to the privacy of her room. That was where she proceeded to fall apart and quietly begin to lose her mind.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _(That smooth bastard). This came into being because there just aren't enough Jefferson fics, damn it, and I love to hate him right now. Please forgive the presumptuousness of the dual title, I guess I just couldn't make up my mind. This will follow the original timeline of OUAT, and shouldn't diverge in any specific way._

 _ **BTW - Cadmea**_ _is pronounced_ _ **K-ad-May**_ _, and her last name,_ _ **Metaxas**_ _is pronounced_ _ **M-et-ax-ahs**_ _. Just for the curious. Cadmea comes from Kadmeia Nike, or Cadmean Victory - 'a victory involving one's own ruin'. Her surname Metaxas is greek, and roughly means 'one who deals in fabrics/silks'. Thought it would be appropriate seeing as she is a talented seamstress, and her father is a tailor._

 _Thanks for reading, and be sure to watch for the next chapter - The pain in Cadmea's heart begins to affect her mind, and a near tragedy occurs. We will meet the Dark One who fully appreciates the meaning of her name, and find out how much time has passed and what Jefferson is up to. I really hope a few people will enjoy this, I had such a great time writing it! Comments are always welcome! Also, a big thank you to Logan for helping me out with the Jefferson cover art for this story. I drew it, but it wouldn't have seen the light of day without her._

 _ **P.S.**_ _This story was slightly inspired by_ _ **Identity-Unknown**_ _'s Alice in Wonderland (2010) fic,_ _ **'Strange Asylum'**_ _, here on . An Alice/Tarrant fic, it seems as if it has been abandoned just one chapter short of its conclusion, but it didn't keep me from really enjoying it - it dealt with some darker, more serious themes, like past sexual abuse and self-harm, so just a warning, it may disturb some folks. If you like a little insanity with your romance, be sure to check it out._


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Madness of Cadmea; or, The Lunatic Couturier**_

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 _WARNINGS_ _for descriptions of blood and self-harm._

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TWO

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Cadmea did try desperately to distract herself with her work - there were always fabrics and notions to order and procure, and ball gowns and be-spoke formal suits to made, not to mention the ready-to-wear rustic clothing sought out by the not-quite-so privileged working class folk.

For a long time - a period of nearly three months - she was semi-successful, running herself and her fingers ragged as she helped her parents and their hired help keep clothes on the varied backs of the kingdom. She fetched and carried, cut and pressed, drew her needle and thread tirelessly through the days from dawn to dusk, until at last, her fingers swelled and her grip and her wrists grew weak.

Her parent's knew she was working too hard, but they could tell it was how she was coping with Jefferson's abrupt exit from her life, and did not often forbid her from it - but they were helpless to stop her slow decline. It became worse quickly after she was ordered by the physician to take a long break or else risk permanently damaging the nerves in her hands and wrists.

Unable to work, Cadmea and her parents attempted to find her other distractions, and she began taking long walks through the village and the well-worn paths of the nearby woods. She volunteered her time to help teach the orphaned children how to spell and read, and kept Jefferson's shell-shocked mother company during his father's busy working hours at the Millinery Shop. Since Jefferson had left, they'd fallen behind, and his father was frantically training both a new Hatter's apprentice, and a new shop assistant.

When the winter came in earnest, the weather kept Cadmea indoors for days on end. There was little to do if she could not sew. She baked, cleaned and read, dusted and gingerly sketched. She even re-papered the walls in her mother's salon with rose-colored watered silk, and changed the light, feminine furniture around. Her patience with the grayness and monotony quickly ran thin though, and she soon fell unfettered back into her happier memories of Jefferson.

The pain was still raw, her love as strong and true as ever, but even still it was a deeply wounded thing. She took to dosing her tea with her mother's arthritic medicinal aid, and the laudanum made her content and allowed her to sleep. If she doubled the dose, it made her light-headed and almost euphoric, and she began to look forward to the time she could avail herself of it.

One day, her mother noticed the missing bottles, and finally realized how and why her daughter had been so quiet and blissful of late. Immediately, she hid the remaining portions and went directly to her father, at which time they'd confronted her.

Cadmea had readily admitted her use, bewildered at their overreaction, and they had to explain to their innocent daughter how addictive and harmful the potion was if misused.

Feeling foolish, Cadmea had promised to leave the stuff untouched, even if she did somehow manage to find it. But she underestimated her reliance on the drug for her own peace of mind, and the illusion of well-being it gave her. When the symptoms of withdrawal began to set in, she hid herself in her room, ashamed, and sought to sleep her way through it, only to quickly find it was impossible.

She began to get ill, caught herself sobbing hysterically over Jefferson one moment, and laughing about how stupid she was being the next. The pain, the loss, her inability to remain still and the constant wailing of voices in her ears finally made her hazardous enough to scrabble under her bed for her sewing box and grasp the stork-shaped, golden scissors within. She was barely aware of the pounding at her door as frantically opened the blades and dragged the sharp point swiftly up the insides of her arms. She was laughing at the burn, enjoying the slow ebb of the ever-present pain as it ran in lovely scarlet ribbons out of her veins and into the folds of her full skirts when her door broke open…

" _Perhaps she should be institutionalized - this attempt on her life may not be the last,"_ the physician was telling Cadmea's parents in the hallway outside her room.

They acted as if she could not hear them, Cadmea thought, scowling. Her arms hurt and her head pounded. She looked longingly at the fat water pitcher at her bedside, her throat and tongue feeling unbearably parched.

" _What kind of life would she have left to live anyway, if we shackle her up inside of one of those places!"_ her mother protested in a harsh whisper, and her father sighed but agreed, muttering, _"I could cheerfully murder that boy for what he has done to her."_

Cadmea knew he was wrong - only _she_ was to blame for the state she was in. Who could blame Jefferson for merely speaking the truth and following his heart?

The physician gave them more instructions on how care for her stitched wounds, and insisted someone be kept at her bedside at all times, awake and alert, for she was as likely to make another attempt within the next few days as she would ever would. He spoke of returning the next day to check for any sign of infection, and advised them to check her often for fever before he finally left.

Cadmea rested her head back on her pillows and stared at the pressed tin ceiling. She would have to sew the doctor a new shirt and vest in return for his efforts - the copious amounts of her blood had ruined the fine white lawn and raw black silk.

She looked over when her parents came into the room, their faces noticeably aged and lined. Her mother brought her a cup of tea laced with morphine for the pain in her arms, and she barely kept herself from laughing at the irony - they took one drug away, aggravating and provoking a suicidal episode, only to directly bring her another drug which the doctor warned was just as addictive!

Her displeasure did not keep her from immediately accepting the tea.

* * *

The arrival of gossip about the Dark One himself to the village that early spring was a welcome distraction for Cadmea. She still had not returned to work because of the slow-heal of her scars, and the sensitivity and weakness from damaged tendons made it difficult to do much of anything.

She was lingering outside the market one dewy morning, waiting on her mother, when she overheard three ladies speaking in a huddle nearby. At the mention of _The_ Dark One, her ears perked, and she stepped closer to shamelessly listen in.

It seemed the Dark One had become a very physical presence in the neighboring kingdom of late, and was said to be up to any number of evil and uncouth deeds. It was rumored that he had the look of an emaciated crocodile, and the reptilian eyes and teeth to match. He was cold-blooded and heartless, and would just as soon kill you as to look at you.

They spoke of him making deals with people and taking their souls as payment. He granted wishes like a djinn in return for magical items and things held precious to their owners - such as their _hearts_. He did despicable things like spiriting away beautiful daughters, never to be seen alive again, and had purportedly stolen more than one firstborn.

At first, Cadmea dismissed the rumors as rubbish - oh, the Dark One was certainly real, as real as _magic_ , but why would he draw so much attention to himself?

As the days drew on, and the gossip became even more incredulous, she began to wonder. She heard several stories of people traveling to to remote places, seeking out odd and less-than savory characters in their drive to seek the Dark One out. In such stories, greed and sorrow were the most popular reasons for said journey's.

One day in late spring, a letter marked urgent arrived by special courier - it was for Jefferson's parents, but they were away on a much-needed holiday (though her mother was certain they'd run away because they felt guilty and partly responsible for Cadmea's 'little accident'), and the mail had been redirected to their home instead. Cadmea knew it was impolite, but she was too curious to wait for her parents to finish their breakfast to read it. She broke the seal, settling herself on a padded bench in the entryway, and eagerly began to read...

Her parents found her fifteen minutes later, nearly catatonic on the floor before the bench, the edges of the letter fluttering like butterfly wings in her shaking hand.

* * *

It took nearly a week to convince her eagle-eyed parents that she wasn't going to try to kill herself again. At first they were highly skeptical, after all, news had arrived that Jefferson was ill and dying in a distant northern place, and she had _not_ taken it well.

Meanwhile, Jefferson's parents had still not returned, and she bitterly envied their ignorance.

Time was more precious than they could imagine.

Cadmea insisted to her parents that she was finally ready to move on, though she was mournful and shed many a tear for her doomed 'friend'.

The morning finally came that her parents became confused in their busy schedules, and while her father left early for the Clothing House, her mother finished dressing and hurried out the door to a charity breakfast, unknowingly leaving Cadmea completely alone.

Cadmea quickly gathered all the loose coin she could find, along with all of the bits and bobs of jewelry she had been gifted over the years. A small, soft leather bag neatly carried the tools of her trade - if she ran out of money, bartering her services would surely come in handy.

Cadmea took the time to shimmy into a pair of snug-fitting leather leggings she'd made for herself, added protection under the folds of her skirt, and draped a dark shawl over her hair to obscure her identity. She hung the leather bag containing her tools diagonally across her chest. She then took an old gray cloak from the back of her mother's closet and fastened it at her throat, it's loose folds disguising her familiar form and the telling quality of her dark red, tropical wool dress.

Making her way to the kitchen, Cadmea stuffed a large satchel with loaves of bread, apples, several rounds of hard yellow cheese, and a waxed cloth containing a hearty portion of cubed, cured beef sausage. Last to go in was a leather skein of water, and a dark bottle of her father's most expensive, prized vintage of wine - but on further thought, she hurried back upstairs to her parent's room and retrieved the large, sharp silver shears her father kept in the bottom of his wardrobe as protection. She was going into the deep forest and beyond, after all, and welcomed the sense of security it might bring.

The satchel was heavy, weighing her shoulder down, but she was unconcerned - if all went as she hoped, not all of the items she carried would be there for long.

Cadmea found herself deeply ashamed for leaving as she was, barely giving her poor parents a thought, but she took a pre-written letter explaining her desperate need for a change, and pinned it to the front door. In it, she begged for their forgiveness, and apologized for the worry she would cause them. It also assured them of her love for them, her gratefulness, and that she had no intention of self-harm; she would send them news of her whereabouts when she found a new life to settle in. It's tone was warm and convincing - she'd almost fooled herself into believing it was true. Though she did love them, and would miss them terribly, her need to save Jefferson overwhelmed her.

Securing her sturdy, calf-length boots, she dashed out the back door and through the budding garden, sparing the bench where Jefferson had made his goodbye a lengthy, longing glance, for if things went as she intended, it would be the last time she saw it.

Cadmea shook herself free of the memory of Jefferson's brilliant smile, the faint scratchy feel of his warm cheek under her lips, and turned away.

She had a man to see about a dwarf, a dwarf to see about a witch, and a witch to see about a devil…

* * *

 **A/N:** _Here we are! The end of chapter two! I feel like I've been running a race!_

 _So, I know that there are bound to be details about the OUAT world that I've missed or added erroneously, but as this story continues on - what with my addition of an OC and Jefferson's origin - it does feel a bit A/U, I will stay as true to the original storyline as possible, I promise._

 _I also promise there will eventually be a happy ending - I mention this because if any reader is like me, the first two chapters of this would have hurt or pissed me off enough not to bother to continue trying to follow it without an assurance that it will end well. (If anyone else feels the need to shake Jefferson until his gorgeous eyeballs rattle, I'm right there with you)._

 _It is going to be hell getting there, though. Jefferson still has his thief phase to go through, and Cadmea has to adjust to the shock of living in Wonderland with complete amnesia. While things may not be perfect for Cadmea for quite awhile, there will be happier times ahead._ _ **Stick with me!**_ _Thanks for reading, and comments are always welcome. =)_


	3. Chapter 3

_**The Madness of Cadmea; or, The Lunatic Couturier**_

* * *

THREE

* * *

The man who lived on the remotest outskirts of Cadmea's large home village was a near-elderly woodcutter, but he also held great knowledge of the Enchanted Forest and it's inhabitants. It took some effort to convince him to share it, to tell her of its dangers and to draw her a rough map of the path to the home of the dwarf she sought.

The kind older man was not keen on sending so young a girl off on what could quickly become a perilous experience, but when Cadmea assured him she would be taking a hired carriage most of the three day walking journey, thereby significantly shortening the trip to a day, he relented. He did not ask why she wanted to see the dwarf, but Cadmea suspected he assumed she was burdened by an unwanted pregnancy, and the hermit dwarf was a specialist in the herbs of the forest, and their properties. She probably wasn't the first woman he'd been approached by, looking for information.

The woodcutter refused payment, but Cadmea shared a meal of the food she'd brought, with him, and at the door, pressed several gold coins upon him gratefully. When she left his home, she set off down the wooded path that would return her to the village - but at the crossroads, well out of sight of the woodcutter's home, she took a different direction, one that led the next village several hills over. If she hurried, she would make the place by nightfall.

* * *

The next day, after a fitful rest and an impatient wait sitting up in the wee tavern of a coaching inn, Cadmea was finally able to buy a seat in a crowded carriage in the direction of the forest she needed to go. She made polite responses to the other travelers if she was spoken to, but was too distracted by anxiety and fear to fully participate in meaningless chatter. She attempted to excuse her rudeness by sharing the bountiful contents of her satchel, and anyone who felt slighted quickly forgave her. One harried, down-on-her-luck mother was especially thankful for the food, and fed her ravenous, whining boy child until he was content and heavily napping. The carriage, though still close in the late spring sun, was at least comfortably quiet after that, and Cadmea was pleased to have less weight to carry later on her journey.

When the mother and child disembarked later, Cadmea gave the woman and child with the tattered clothes the remainder of her coins - she told the protesting woman that she still carried her jewels with her, and not to worry over it - she had enough wealth to get where she was going while still being able to help another woman in need.

The poor woman had burst into tears and hugged Cadmea tightly, vowing to pray for her safe arrival to her destination.

Later, during the long trip, Cadmea noted that there were only two brief stops; one to rest and water the horses, and to change and rest the people, and the other to change the horses and to rest and water the people.

Cadmea amused herself with the inane observation, looking forward to end of the ride - she had come further than most people that day, and now she was alone in the cab, but still uncomfortable - the carriage springs definitely needed changing.

She was alarmed and confused, when at dusk, the carriage made an unscheduled stop. After a long minute, the door was open and a lithe stranger in a dark green hooded cloak climbed in. The man, his face well-hidden, took a seat opposite her, and leaned back into the padded seat, propping one booted foot atop his knee.

Cadmea tried not to stare, but the mysterious figure was compelling - his very presence seemed unnatural.

"Good evening," she greeted him, and received a slow nod in return.

"And to you, _dearie_ ," he added in a somewhat high-pitched voice, sounding as if he were speaking through a smile.

Disturbed, Cadmea looked out the window, wondering why the man was there. She suddenly wished she had her father's shears in hand, just in case - she would have to see about fashioning a sheathe for them, perhaps, a forearm one, or a garter might be ideal -

"You are far from home, aren't you, child?" the stranger suddenly commented.

Cadmea nodded. "That I am."

"And where is it you go, may I ask?"

"I - my grandmother's house," Cadmea blurted, having given the excuse several times that day.

The stranger threw his head back and cackled mirthfully. "Oh, your _grandmother's_ _house_ , indeed!" he exclaimed loudly, making her jump and horses outside neigh in protest.

"Well, my little wayward seamstress, I suppose that would make _you_ red-riding hood and I...the _wolf_ ," he announced dramatically, and in that moment, his hood fell back.

Cadmea was at once elated and petrified. The stranger before her was no _man_ , but the glaring image of the very being she sought, the Dark One himself!

Unnatural yellow eyes pierced her, and her grinned widely, exposing his sharp, yellowed teeth.

"You have come seeking the Dark One, yes?" he goaded her, and she nodded dumbly, confused.

"How did you - "

"Oh, I know a great many things, dearie! I listen closely, therfore I hear everything!" He flicked clawed fingers near his ear, still staring at her through the greasy strands of his hair. He studied her closely, and she knew what he saw - a passably pretty young girl, with long, too-thick brown hair that never fully curled, nor lay straight, pale skin, and troubled light gray eyes.

"You know, it did not take long for me to sense your pain, it stood out far above the rest of the selfish, warbling babble of this place. Your pain has been screaming in the ether, child, your heart glows like a warm beacon in the blackest night. You have suffered a great loss, and in this magical world, things like that _get_ _noticed_."

Cadmea's heart began to thud painfully. The Dark One hissed lightly, and she shivered.

"Your great generosity has been noticed, too," he continued, smirking, tapping his fingers atop his raised leg. "I had thought to allow you the time to make your great journey, time to come to regret this foolish quest and run home to the safety of your parents - but there are two of your earlier travelling companions rushing to get to your next destination ahead of you. They plan to attack you and relieve you of your worldly goods - among other prized things." He looked her up and down lazily, making her cheeks burn. "I do confess I was much too intrigued by why you came seeking me out to allow them to get their filthy hands on you."

"B-but don't you already know why?"

"I haven't the time or patience to explain the intricacies of dark magic to you, dearie - suffice it to say, you now have my - _wholly_ \- undivided attention." The Dark One dropped his leg and leaned forward, freezing her in place with his reptilian eyes.

Cadmea found herself shrinking back slightly. They stared at one another for an eternity, her gaze awed and unsettled, his alien and hypnotizing - until the carriage wheels suddenly hit a large hole and the painful jostling made them both groan in protest.

"Let us go somewhere less active to speak," the Dark One snapped, and suddenly, with a blink, Cadmea was sitting at a long table, swallowed by the size of a tall, heavy wooden chair she sat it. Bewildered, she looked down - her cloak and shawl were gone, and her bags were missing too. Alarmed she looked around to find them, but found herself alone in a cavernous room with magnificent woodwork and marble floors, but it was much too dark to see beyond a certain point. A large golden candelabra sat shining in the light of its candles in the middle of the table, but that was the extent of the illumination.

"Comfortable, now, dearie?" came the Dark One's voice from somewhere above, and she looked up to see the creature standing on a large balcony some twenty feet up the wall. A torch on the wall beside him outlined his figure, and she noticed he had shed his concealing cloak. He was indeed dressed in the leathered skin of a crocodile, and his skin held a sickly golden shimmer in the warm light.

Cadame pushed away from the table, and stood, walking to stand beneath the balcony and look up at him.

"I want to make a deal," she uttered without preamble, her voice echoing.

"I'm listening," the creature said, leaning a hip casually against the heavy railing.

Cadmea licked her lips and pushed her tousled brown hair behind her ears.

"I-I need to make an exchange - my fiance - my _former_ fiance - is dying. I would trade myself for him."

"Oh," commented the Dark One distastefully, "a victim of _True Love_ , indeed, are we? One must be careful with that particular disease, it has been known to bite."

Cadmea wordlessly pushed the long sleeves of her green gown up and held her forearms out to show him the healing red scars that slashed horizontally up the white skin.

"It does more than just bite," she told him bitterly.

The Dark One only blinked at her, seeming nonplussed, and then a wide, wicked smile grew, his rotting yellow teeth biting at her. He cackled wildly.

"My, my, if you aren't an interesting diversion, little seamstress. What exactly are you in search of today? A potion to woo your wayward lover back? A precious, hypnotizing bauble to catch his eye? Perhaps you wish to offer me your firstborn in return for - "

"You can have _anything_ ," Cadmea interrupted, "my heart, my mind, my soul - only if you will just _save_ _him_."

"Ah, a rare love indeed, a lass so unselfish, so self-sacrificing - don't you want anything for yourself, dearie? Supreme beauty? Power over your enemies? Treasures beyond measure? Or, my personal favorite - good, old-fashioned, bloody _vengeance?_ "

Cadmea shook her head. "His _name_ is Jefferson - he has been gone for over six months on a journey, but his parents received word from a priest near the far sea that he has been ill with fever for some time - he contracted something on a short voyage up the coast, and he is not expected to recover. It may already be...too late."

"Well, well, just let us, see, seamstress, let us see…' the Dark One snapped his fingers and a fuzzy vision appeared, images flickering before them, a cliff beyond the sea, a small stone monastery, a tiny but clean cell-like room, a torch blazing on the wall - and then Jefferson, sprawled out across a straw mattress. His dark hair was too long, and it was greasy, his fever-damp skin stretched thinly across the fine bones of his face. His skin was pale and sallow, and he was moving restlessly, weakly, his once animated lips cracked and colorless. He was obviously not far from Death's reach.

Cadmea could not stop herself from staggering forward, her hands clenched into her stained skirts. "Jefferson...oh, my sweet boy, what has happened to you?" she breathed.

"Hm, the monks have been caring for him for some time," the Dark One noted. "He's strong - a fighter, isn't he? Though, not for much longer..."

Cadmea could only stare helplessly at the vision before her. Tears were hotly streaking her face as she greedily drank it in.

The Dark One giggled and the vision suddenly disappeared.

Cadmea fell to her knees as if it had been the only thing holding her up.

"So, what, _exactly_ , is it you wish of me, little seamstress?"

"A deal, a trade, my life for his."

"If you value your life so little that you attempted to throw it away, why ever would you think _I_ would find worth in it?" the devil drawled.

"Make him well again, _permanently,_ give him the adventure he longs for, and you can have the things that are most precious to me," she told him.

"And what is _most_ _precious_ to you, dearie?" he asked sneeringly.

"Who I am, my essence, my heart, my memories...my _name_ ," she added desperately.

"Names _do_ have power," he allowed, stroking his scaly chin thoughtfully, "and despite your willingness to die, your heart is uncommonly good and strong. However," he paused, grinning sharply, one clawed finger in the air, "a _question_."

"It occurs to me to ask, dearie, why you should suffer for eternity when even _now_ , on his deathbed, he gives no thought to you?"

"You cannot do or say anything to make the pain I feel worse," Cadmea informed him stonily.

He winked. _"If you only knew."_

Cadmea shivered.

"Well," he continued, pacing, "'tis a simple question. Why _does_ he deserve your sacrifice? You _do_ know that he has always been selfish? He thinks only of himself. His father's arrogance, his father's youthful _sins_ marked him with a dark streak upon his creation. Don't you recall those times during your childhood when he took more than his share, perhaps chose the easier tasks and left you with more work, all the times he broke promises to you? He isn't perfect, this love of yours. It's why he left you. He _broke_ you. Why shouldn't you avenge _yourself_ on him, instead? I could allow him to live, but let the fever steal his virility, hee. Take his sight, _yesss_ , never allow those cherished eyes to look upon another woman? _Cripple_ his beautiful, skilled hands, _break_ his strong back, _mar_ his perfect looks, _banish_ _his sanity_ \- ! "

" _NO!"_

"Even if I tell you that in four years time he will give up his quest for adventure - something he would not do for _you_ \- to settle down? That he will call another woman _wife_ , and father her child with embarrassing haste?" he snapped all this rapidly, his yellow eyes dancing with vindictive glee.

Cadmea's entire being curled in upon itself in utter devastation. The blow was a mortal one. She wrapped her arms tightly around her ribcage, willing it not to break open and spill everything inside out onto the impeccable marble floor.

 _Jefferson's child…a wife? But he had protested marriage so adamantly, why - ?_

But then, he'd only really protested marriage _to_ _her_.

"This _pain_ ," she whispered, "how can my heart _continue_ to beat?"

Her sweet boy, Jefferson. How she had once cherished the thought of carrying the spark of his life within her, of having that unimaginable, intimate closeness with him _\- it was so unfair -_

"Yes, the child that rightfully should have been _yours_ ," the Dark One pressed. "Would you still destroy yourself for him, because that is what will happen to you, little seamstress, once your name and memories have gone, once I have reached in and _dug out your heart_ , you will be hollow. I can tell you with utmost certainty that you will _never_ see your parents again. They won't be able to help you."

Cadmea slumped further, pressing her hands to her throat.

"Surround yourself with companions, marry and have children with another man, it doesn't matter, you will never again be whole. You won't know who you are, your mind will wither, your sanity begin to wane, and you will be _entirely_ _alone in it_. The pain you feel now will be nearly infinitesimal in comparison the constant confusion you will wander in. You will exist as an outcast, rejected and isolated, and eventually you will go completely, irrevocably _mad_."

The Dark One jumped down from his balcony, and landed deftly before her. He stood beside her and stared down at her without pity until she dropped her mournful eyes. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed brokenly.

The Dark One huffed impatiently after a long moment. "You really want this?"

He almost sounded like a normal, human man.

Cadmea took a breath, stifling her sobs, and nodded resolutely, if unsteadily.

The Dark One suddenly held his hand out to her, palm up, fingers wriggling as if _daring_ her to take it.

"Victory is yours, _Cadmea_ _Metaxas_ , though the cost is your own ruin. You certainly are living up to your name, aren't you, dearie, _ha-ha!_ But then, you _are_ a fighter, aren't you, where it counts? A fighter from the cradle to the grave," he cooed.

"Though it's still not too late to change your mind - I could replace that grave with a throne if you wish, that selfish boy with a _king_ ," he added temptingly.

Cadmea shook her head. "N-no. You _must_ save him. Y-you'll do it?" she asked breathlessly, eyes glinting with hope and unshed tears.

He rolled his eyes, and then nodded. "Yes, yes, Jefferson will never be physically ill again, he will live until old age merrily shuffles him off this mortal coil, or at least until capricious fate takes him. You'll have to be satisfied with that, because if he is fatally injured, even _I_ cannot bring him back from the dead. Your 'sweet boy' shall recover with all haste, and find himself in possession of a very unusual hat. A hat that will open portals to new worlds, and give him all the _adventure_ he could ever handle - though for your sake(and I do _not_ easily give my respect, so _indeed_ , do be flattered), I hope that he chokes upon it. He doesn't deserve the gift you are giving him."

Cadmea looked back up at him, and then to his hand.

"I have your word?" she asked uncertainly.

"I _always_ honor my agreements," he told her sternly, and then suddenly grinned widely.

"Do we have a deal?" he asked cheerily.

Cadmea did not hesitate. She grasped the repugnant creature's icy hand tightly, and stood, eager to forget, ready to face her new fate.

The Dark One snapped the fingers of his other hand and instantly - she was gone.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin stood back as the girl and her belongings disappeared, crossing his arms and settling his booted feet apart to seriously regard the precious heart in his hand. It had been, unarguably, a _good_ deal. Truth be told, he had gained more from it than she ever would.

The heart still held the undeniable power of true love - indeed, it was practically on fire with it, it's golden-red glow so pure and hot it nearly made it too difficult for even him to handle comfortably. If this was any indication of how the girl had felt, he almost pitied her. She must have been roasting alive with the fierceness of her love - and to have to live with the knowledge that something so great, so meant to be, had been so foolishly brushed aside…?

A lapse in sanity from overexposure to the girls purity would be how he explained his next actions to himself in the future.

Rumple relocated the lost girl from the dark forest beyond his lands to the depths of the one in Wonderland. It was a small kindness, sending her there, but at least she would not end her days abused and neglected in a filthy asylum, which was where she'd been headed once her mental condition worsened. At least she would fit in and not be so horribly judged in that mad land.

 _Speaking of madness…_

He smiled widely, and snapped his fingers, instantly arriving in the space before Jefferson's sick bed. He listened to the boy's labored breaths and then shrugged, and snapped his fingers again. All at once, the horrible racket stopped, and some color returned to his lean cheeks.

Jefferson stopped fidgeting, and breathed deeply, unimpaired. He fell into a deep, healing sleep, and when he awoke from it, he would be a damned sight improved, but it would still take a few weeks for him to fully recover his strength.

Curling his lip in disgust at the handsome youth's strong, shadowed jaw and dimpled chin, Rumple turned away and bent, rifling through the lad's belongings until he found what he was after - _the hat._

The power he expended to make the hat magical was a mere drop in the bucket to what he had gained from Cadmea Metaxas ever-true heart.

Replacing the hat with a displeased snarl, he turned back to the young man upon the straw. Sneering at him in dislike, he meddled ever-so-slightly with certain events in Jefferson's future. The effect of an unexpected, _extended_ stay in Wonderland on the man's psyche would be miniscule compared to the suffering of the creature Cadmea would eventually become.

After all, he had agreed to keep the lad from _physical_ illness only...

Rumple cackled in delight at his own cleverness, and pointed a finger at the sleeping youth.

"Enjoy your freedom and peace of mind whilst you have it, boy! Be seeing you!" he waved his fingers at him, and disappeared.

Meanwhile Jefferson slept on, blissfully unaware of the day's tragic events, and woke, rested and refreshed three days later to the monks of the monastery proclaiming his recovery to be a miracle. He would reside at the place for another two weeks before discovering, quite by accident that his top hat had inexplicably become quite the astonishing piece of haberdashery...

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _There, Jefferson finally got what he wanted. Cadmea did too, though in a roundabout, unfair way. I hope my version of Rumplestiltskin is convincing and not completely out-of-character. I'll keep writing, and I hope you'll keep reading, interesting stuff ahead! Comments always welcome! :)_


	4. Chapter 4

**The Madness Of Cadmea, or The Lunatic Couturier**

* * *

 _ **Warning**_ _for smut/borderline dubious consent._

* * *

FOUR

* * *

" _If you don't know where you're going, any road will lead you there."_ \- Cheshire Cat, Alice in Wonderland

* * *

It was days like today when Jefferson especially cursed himself for whatever it was that had made him feel the need to desert his family and his home.

He had not been in possession of the portal jumping hat for very long, and as with any new tool, it had taken getting used to. In the past year, he'd made his first, furtive travels alone, until the last evening, when a strange man had approached him in the tavern he'd been staying in.

Skeptical and wary, Jefferson had no idea where the man had gotten his information, and was refused the informant's identity when he requested it, but somehow news of his new found ability had gotten around - and this small, bewigged, nasally stranger wanted his services.

Jefferson had been surprised, especially since he hadn't even thought of turning his skill into an enterprise, but since his funds were at the point where there was a bit less than more, he considered it...and reluctantly accepted.

That was how he came to find himself lost in the woods, stranded in a place apparently called Wonderland, if the confusing speech of the monstrous blue caterpillar he'd come across earlier could be deciphered correctly, (it was quite uncertain as the creature had most definitely been under the heavy influence of _something_ …)

It was also how he learned that his hat had rules he had been unaware of, the most intolerant of which had been that however many entered the hat and it's portals also had to be present in order to depart from them.

Upon entering the bright and too perfect world through a huge looking glass, the dodgy little man he'd been traveling with had obligingly handed over his 'fare' - and quickly took himself off down a path that led distinctly _away_ from the fantastic castle and gravity-defying hedge-maze looming in the distance. The rotund, squirrelly fellow nearly tripped over his own dainty feet leaving as quickly as he did, and after being the recipient of a half-dozen, twitchy backward glances, Jefferson began to feel like he was missing out on something. A coldness had begun to creep up under his collar, and he'd frowned and taken three steps back to the mirror - only to be soundly blocked from entering it.

His own ridiculous expression of dumb-shock reflecting back at him had made him pause in an attempt to put two and two together, realize he had no access to his hat, and then he was baring his teeth in a hiss, and off and running after the runty little troll who'd clearly known what was going to happen when Jefferson tried to leave minus-one.

Knowing his present scowl of displeasure was thunderous, and surely a fearsome sight to behold, Jefferson now continued to push through the dark, tangled wood in search of a path, a road, or any being with two specks of common sense to rub together, and then he was going to find that tick-ridden bastard and haul his fat ass out of here and home so fast it would make his white wig spin.

So far, he had ventured across a giant hookah-smoking caterpillar, singing flowers, improbable and ridiculous insects, and an annoying, half-visible cat with a grin like a shark's and a way of speaking that made Jefferson's head hurt. There were also blood-thirsty hedgerows that proceeded to snap out and eat anything unfortunate enough to approach - which for Jefferson, had turned out to be his worn but cherished gray travelling coat. He'd barely twisted his arms out of the confining material in a breathless, dizzying dance before it was whipped off him and devoured whole, leaving him shaken and not a little in fear for his life.

Swallowing dryly, Jefferson paused by an absurdly large stand of hyper-colored mushrooms and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head in utter frustration. He could feel his hold to reality slipping, slowly but surely, and was terrified he might go mad if he had to remain in Wonderland much longer. It was practically timeless, and there was something almost insidious about the deceptively cheery place.

Running a scraped hand through his hair, he realized how thirsty he had become when he heard something nearby - a voice, perhaps.

Jefferson made a face at the thought of possibly having another run-in with one of the quirky land's certifiable inhabitants, but decided the direction the sound was coming from was as good as any to head in.

Being quiet was an impossibility in the thickness of the overgrowth he was approaching through, and he let himself curse out loud whenever he got snagged at or scratched by what he swore were semi-sentient, outright _vindictive_ vines.

Jefferson took a deep breath when he stumbled out into a small clearing, and looked around, only to lose that breath when he looked upon the vision before him. His eyes widened, lips parting as he felt his jaw drop.

There was a shallow, trickling stream of diamond-clear water running through the clearing, and the running facets of it caught the speckled rays of sunlight coming down through the heavy canopy of trees curving high overhead. The water was a welcome sight, but his thirst was near forgotten as he gazed upon the nude woodland sprite kneeling before it and bathing. She was talking to herself in an animated whisper, but he was too stunned to acknowledge the oddity.

The female was petite, but not bony - she had skin like winter velvet and long, disheveled white hair that fell around her face and shoulders. In heavy contrast, her long eyelashes were dark, and her full lips a chewed, worried-at red.

When Jefferson gulped audibly, and tried to clear his throat, the girl looked up at him with large gray eyes set in darkened circles in her face, and blinked, her expression impassive.

" _You_ should be wearing a hat," the vision told him matter-of-factly in a cool whisper.

Jefferson moved his lips thoughtlessly and swiped at the sweat on his forehead and the back of his neck with his limp handkerchief. He swallowed again, and arched an imperious brow at her. "You're one to talk - shouldn't you be wearing _clothes_?"

The sprite smirked at him. "Perhaps I wasn't expecting company. It isn't hard to find privacy this far into Tulgey Wood - usually," she said, whispering still. She stood and took a step toward him, her curvy hips swaying.

Jefferson remained frozen, experiencing what had to be the first stirrings of actual, heated want. He'd been aroused by women, yes, but he'd never felt such an instant need at the mere sight of one before - he was distressingly, embarrassingly, hard, without even his coat to disguise his reaction - but the sprite didn't seem concerned in the least.

"Such a pretty fellow you are. What is your name?" she asked him softly, lifting out a hand as she approached.

Jefferson was helpless not to take it. He stepped forward on unsteady legs and wrapped his fingers around her small, damp, warm ones.

"Jefferson," he told her on a low, breathless growl, and then grabbed her by the waist and kissed her with nothing less than reckless abandon. The gentleman in him tried to drag his lustful actions back from the edge, but the girl fit against his body like a missing piece, and the strange sense of relief he gained from the contact kept him from gaining a proper grip.

The sprite gasped at his actions and his speed, but suddenly relaxed against him, allowing him to to kiss her as he would. Her small fingers escaped his grasp, and ran up his arm to clutch at the back of his head. Her nails scratched softly at his neck, and she made a small noise of relief that drove him completely out of his mind.

Knowing that she might retreat if he allowed her a moment to think, he quickly had one clever hand on her breast, softly but insistently carressing, and the other in the downy fluff between her legs, smoothly sliding along her slick, sweet skin.

The sprite gave a quiet exclamation as she unexpectedly peaked, and Jefferson groaned in amazement and caught her by the waist even as her legs gave out beneath her. He had her on her back on the ground in a heartbeat, mouth still stretching over hers, fingers slipping gently into her heat to gloriously explore and ease his way before he himself was even fully aware of his intentions.

The sprite had both hands in his sweat-dampened hair, moaning in that hushed tone, willingly spreading her flawless white thighs on either side of his hips - she surprised him by coming apart in his hands again mere moments later, and when she reached trembling, hot little hands down to grasp his backside through his trousers, he knew he had her.

" _Jefferson…_ "

Reaching down and undoing his trousers, he barely had himself in hand when she thrust herself up against him, begging in nonsense words in her bewitching whisper.

Jefferson was panting, tongue curling around his lower lip as he caught her hands from his disheveled hair and pulled open the neck of his shirt, settling her hot palms against his chest. They both hummed around their kisses at the contact.

"You are so beautiful, Jefferson," the girl whispered to him when he lifted his head to breathe, and discovered she was staring at him with hungry adoration.

Her expression threw him, made him begin to doubt, but then she scratched her nails gently down his chest and across his nipples, and her hands dropped to boldly encircle his sleek hardness.

Jefferson's eyes slid shut, and he dropped his head to her neck, breathing heavily. "If you do not want this, you should run now," he managed to breathe huskily into her ear, but the girl only shuddered with excitement from head to toe, and put her hands back on either side of his still-clothed hips.

"I fear I shall die from want of you. It's...it's as if I have never fully felt the loss of my heart until now."

Jefferson shook his head at her nonsense, and sighed raggedly in hopeless surrender. He stroked her, twisting his fingers inside her slick heat one last time, and used his other hand to guide his cock into her. He looked down at her delicate, shadowed features through half-lidded eyes, and she twisted her head helplessly on the ethereal bed of her heavy silver hair. Though she was almost unbearably tight, she was more than ready for him, and he slid home with little difficulty, his heart thudding loudly in his ears as she locked down around him. She gave a pained whimper, tensing against him, but then surprised him by lifting her head and licking into his parted lips, sucking his tongue into her sweet little mouth.

Jefferson caught his breath at the exquisite sensation, having to pause and drop his head to the curve of her neck again to catch his breath. She was having none of it, and wrapped her slim legs around his waist with a shudder of pure want, so he groaned helplessly against her skin, sucking it between his teeth, giving sharp nips soothed by long, slow swipes of his tongue as he settled further in, and began moving slowly against her.

Jefferson had been with a women before, had gone far beyond gentle kisses and touching - but those rushed encounters had not prepared him for the cataclysm of pure, unfettered lust. Everything disappeared, all thought, all worry, all awareness except for the thrilling noises she made as he mindlessly sank deep, over and over, breath coming rough and uneven, ecstatic trickles of pure heaven flooding his cock and setting off an explosive spark at the base of his spine.

She came again when he huffed a hot, wrecked breath into the sensitive skin under her ear, driving his hips hard, and when she whimpered quietly into his own ear and then roughly licked into it and bit at it, his world _exploded_...

He would think back in later years, and wonder if that moment had been when he first acknowledged to himself that he was not a good man. He'd known he was selfish, had always been, but so easily losing himself to his basic urges, taking that elfin female on the soft mossy bed of the forest floor without so much as learning her name, made him realize that he might be lacking in conscience, and conscience was certainly the sign of a good man.

It was afterwards, when his brain could think clearly again, that he dumbly realized she'd been a virgin. When he finally groaned in exhausted satisfaction and lifted his muzzy head from the bruised curve of her throat and saw the blood streaking her thighs, he froze in dismay. When he further thought about the encounter, his throat became tight.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he closed his eyes and licked his sore lips.

No, he wasn't a good man, but even he knew he'd gone way too far, much too fast.

Jefferson lifted his lids, studying her with concerned eyes through the spiky tangles of his dark hair, and met the girl's unusually pale eyes with his own - but she was smiling tenderly at him, small white teeth biting the pink plush of her lip, her body resting under his in a languid pose that suggested nothing but utter contentment - she stretched, and that was when he saw it. _Them_.

There was scar at her throat, not a large one, not a thick one, but a shiny white slash about four inches long - as if someone had attempted to cut her throat. Below that, a brutish, puckered scar lay over her heart, very much resembling a gnarled oak tree with it's outreaching white veins.

Disturbed, shadows of doubt crawling on his spine, he looked away - and saw more long white scars running up the insides of her forearms where they rest on either side of his head as her hands lazily massaged his wild hair in her serenity. She acted as if she trusted him with her life, a stranger who'd appeared from nowhere and taken disgraceful advantage of her.

Just like everything else in this bizarre land, he concluded, she must be mad.

Jefferson leaned back, licking his lips and frowning nervously. He was still inside of her, still semi-erect, still wanting her with a fierceness that seemed wholly unnatural to him, but who the hell was she? Why did she look as if someone had tried to butcher her? How had she survived the wound to her chest? Or worse, why did she look as if, just perhaps, she had tried to butcher _herself_?

Well, at least it explained why she couldn't seem to raise her voice above a loud whisper…

"Mm...please, _please_ , can you do it to me again?" she asked him out of nowhere, and he stiffened, eyes widening at the spike of pure lust that streaked through him at her words.

He was lowering his head to kiss her again, eyes heavy-lidded with desire when -

" _Well, now, aren't you quite the black-hearted villain,"_ came an amused voice from overhead, and blushing, Jefferson hastily reached down to extract himself and do up his trousers before he turned to look.

 _That gods-be-damned cat was back._

Rolling his eyes impatiently, needing to distract himself, Jefferson stood and looked around, enough of a gentleman to go marching over to the stream to retrieve what had to be the girl's clothes, and pause to dampen his handkerchief for her.

Striding back to the girl, he handed her the items before buttoning up his shirt front and crossing his arms. He turned to face the cat defiantly, hoping his full shirt sleeves would help give her a bit of privacy - not that she'd seemed to particularly care...

"What is it you want now, you contrary creature?" Jefferson asked with an impatient snap.

The cat swished its tail as its grin grew impossibly wide. "Well, you wicked human, I did come with the intention of telling you the stranger you are looking for is currently on his way to the castle of the Queen of Hearts - in chains, of course."

Jefferson cursed - if he'd had hands on his hat, he might have actually cast it down and stomped on it. His euphoria from moments earlier was quickly fading. "Damn it - who is he?"

The cat shrugged, lazily circling the branch. "No idea - but he must have done something quite illegal - he's certainly going to lose his head. If he is of import to you, you may wish to attempt a rescue soon rather than later."

Jefferson blanched. Be-headings were not good...but if the rescue failed, he would simply find another person to take the stranger's place. It would probably work...

He turned to look down at the girl who was demurely lacing up the front of a deceptively plain black gown. As she stood, the skirt fell, revealing two straps with silver D-rings running down either side of it. At the bottom of the full skirt, the straps continued, looping up and back, eventually tucked into a set of D-rings halfway up the skirt, therefore shortening the front of it to her ankles so she had more freedom of movement. His trained eye told him the construction of the garment was impeccable, and clever, and while it wasn't a style that would catch on easily, he wondered idly who had come up with it.

"I...must to go," he finally told the girl with an unsure smile.

The lovely wood sprite froze at first, curled shaking fingers tightly around his damp, pink-stained handkerchief, but then only nodded and smiled easily, her pale eyes slightly unfocused in the tumbled sea of silvery hair.

"I-it was absolutely lovely meeting you, Jefferson - perhaps next time you might come for tea?"

Jefferson felt an eyebrow edge it's way up at the ridiculousness of the entire situation, but gave her a short bow and kissed the tips of her chilled fingers before turning away to follow the cat onto a nearby pathway.

Something was telling him he was an idiot for leaving such an unusual treasure, but his guilt and sense of self-preservation were screaming at him. He'd clearly taken leave of his senses, coming here, getting lost and then violently _fucking_ a mentally unstable innocent - what the _hell_ had he been thinking? Perhaps he could blame it on his accidental inhalation of the sickly sweet smoke that giant blue caterpillar had blown in his face when he'd first arrived from the mirror...whatever it was, he decided that he vehemently hated Wonderland - although he could admit to feeling a slight fondness for a particular silver-haired siren.

* * *

The cat reappeared back near the clearing at dusk. It swam it's way through the muggy air over the stream, around a thick stand of trees, and beyond it to an old worn hut tucked into the hillside that had clearly seen better days, what with it's crooked door and limp thatch roof.

"Cheshire," a ragged soft voice greeted, and the cat floated right through the tiny window and onto the back of a tattered velvet couch, where rested the pale-haired girl of Jefferson's desire.

"Your _suitor_ has departed Wonderland, Seamstress," the cat announced, yawning widely. It lowered its head onto it's paws and stared at the fire in the stone hearth contentedly.

The girl, the Mad Seamstress as she'd become known to those in Tulgey Wood, smiled regretfully and sewed a stitch of red silk thread carefully, before piercing with needle again and repeating the process. "I suppose he found what he was after, then."

The cat watched her closely, it's grin dimming a little. "I would say that wicked fellow got rather more than he was after, wouldn't you?"

The Seamstress tilted her head. "It was a _lovely_ afternoon - even if I did miss tea."

"You know, he lost a very fine coat to the maze hedges today."

"Oh, pity that. Perhaps I shall make him a new one - no, a whole new suit! I wonder if he cares for black? He must, I sense he is a villain after all, like you said."

"A dashing rapscallion if ever there was one," Cheshire agreed.

"Dashing, indeed. I wonder if he'll ever return?" the Seamstress asked in a whisper-sweet voice. "He - he would make my heart hurt in the most wonderful way, if I had one. I wish that I did, surely I would be made perfect if I could keep him inside it."

The cat purred, wide eyes narrowing in thought. It watched the seamstress pull another length of thread out, and then followed her fingertips back to the threads origin.

"If he _does_ , he's mad," the cat commented at last, rolling onto its back. "But then, we're all mad here, are we not?"

The Seamstress sighed, the sound ragged from her damaged vocal chords. "I felt different around him - peaceful - if I've ever known peace. His lips were exquisite - they made me quite forget myself...and those eyes, the heat in them...I almost caught myself wanting to scratch them out and put them in my pocket!"

"That would have been very rude," the cat said lightly, it's tail twitching.

"Indeed," the Seamstress agreed, and plunged the needle a bit too fiercely. _"Ow!"_

The cat sighed. "Perhaps you should put on a light - the darkness gathers outside."

"In a moment - I'm almost done." The Seamstress took a deep breath, and made the final run with the thread before biting it off and tying it handily. She put down the bloody needle and sat back to look at her finished work. "Well? What do you think?"

Cheshire looked down at the carnage of the Seamstresses left forearm - the madwoman had stitched a pretty enclosure around and over the long scar there - much like the laced-front of her gown. The top was wider than the bottom, and the expensive white thread was looped and tied into a pretty bow at the top - well, what showed of the white thread after it had passed through a layer of her flesh and blood and became stained red.

"Lovely, your work has no parallel," the cat commented wisely, instead of trying to point out to her that the reason she did these things was clearly an attempt to put herself back together - but the child was too broken to even try to understand.

"Will you do the other? Perhaps the one at your throat as well?" It hoped she would not, she would probably pierce something and make her bleed to death, but the cat was perverse and couldn't help the sly suggestion...

The Seamstress bit her lip. "I don't know. I like the look of it, but it tends to make me _leak_ so easily, and you know I abhor mess. Just this for now - though next time I may use rings and ribbons instead. Metal pierced flesh will heal much better around the edges than thread, I think. Oh, well - you learn, day by day!"

The cat watched, bemused, as the girl leapt off the couch with tiny streams of blood slinging down her wrist, and swept her long hair aside to tend to the fire.

When the girl had arrived in Wonderland, she'd been utterly lost and alone. After three days of watching the poor, unhinged thing stumble about helplessly, screaming her mad words to the sky, even Cheshire had grown a heart and appeared to offer the girl assistance. It had brought the girl and her mysterious baggage to this little known place, this abandoned hut full of nothing but dust and the detritus of a long past life.

Over the short time she'd been there, the girl had good days and bad. Though she was clearly out of her mind - her hair had gone rapidly from chocolate to silver in those first terrifying, lunacy-filled weeks, especially after the night she'd found her keen little scissors and opened a hole in her throat - she was kind, and held a considerable talent. Her stitchwork was so fine as to nearly be invisible. In fact, the cat knew it was only a matter of time before the Queen caught wind of the mysterious Mad Seamstress living in Tulgey Wood and demanded her services.

The cat feared a little for its new found friend - it wasn't easy to find a human who was willing to put up with it's rude antics and still serve it hot tea and delicate, homemade petite fours.

If the queen became jealous of the Seamstress - and she would - she would have her locked up within the castle forever, hoarding her talents all to herself.

Cheshire watched the fierce little human heat water for tea in an ancient copper pot, and carefully pull out a prepared dough from a bowl for scones, and resolved to watch over her, though if there was a threat, it wasn't Cheshire they would have to worry about - all it would take was one bad day, and the Seamstress would make even Wonderland nightmares seem tame. The Queen was so fond of her little faux be-headings - well, if the Seamstress got hold of anyone with her over-sized shears, and strength brought on by sheer heartlessness and insanity, there would be no easy way of putting their head back upon their necks...

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _So many thank you's for the comments and favs so far! If you all noticed, despite her lack of memory and literal heart, Cadmea still manages to adore Jefferson in her own mad way - and Jefferson, now that he's "free" of what he thought of as the burden of Cadmea, is subconsciously responding to the violence of his own feelings for her, even though he has no idea who she really is. If that's not true love, I don't know what is. Also, the Cheshire Cat is asexual in this fic - I don't know why, it just seemed to fit. Maybe just because it always seemed more like a figment to me than a real, flesh and blood cat. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter - continue directly on for the next, and please let me know what you think! Again, so grateful for the feedback._


	5. Chapter 5

**The Madness of Cadmea, or The Lunatic Couturier**

* * *

FIVE

* * *

" _You never really stop loving someone - you just try to learn to live without them." - Anonymous_

* * *

The 'villain' did indeed return to Wonderland well over a year later, though one could never really tell time in Wonderland.

Jefferson was in hiding at the moment, and the first place he'd thought of going was Wonderland of all places - but at least this time, he'd remembered to pick up his hat before going through the mirror.

He was fortunate enough to avoid the giant caterpillar's attention as he skirted its giant mushroom, and was surprised to discover how well he recalled the path back to clearing where'd he'd met the silver-haired sprite.

He'd been on the run for a few days, filthy and tired and hungry, and he staggered into the now-flower-carpeted clearing with every intent of drinking the stream dry - until he saw his conquest resting cross-legged and barefoot in the moss under a tree, a lap-full of sewing receiving her attention. She wore the same black dress he'd last seen her in, but now wore long, tight fitting, laced black gauntlets that covered her scars from wrist to elbow.

"Ah...hello," he called uncertainly, and the girl looked up at him and simply smiled.

"J-Jefferson! You came back!" she stood up, her sewing falling to the ground unheeded. She flew forward on her toes, hair streaming behind her, and threw herself into his arms.

Jefferson was surprised at her reaction, but felt overwhelmingly compelled to bury his nose in her wild hair and hugged her back all the same - she felt different somehow, softer.

"What is your name?" he asked her, tightening his hold.

The girl tolerated his hold for a long moment, then stepped back and stared at him.

Jefferson shifted uncomfortably, recalling he was a cad for even having to ask her name. "What?"

"I don't have one, really. If I have one, I've forgotten it. In the woods I am called The Mad Seamstress."

"Mmm. That explains a lot, actually," Jefferson sighed thoughtfully, biting his lip.

"Of course it does - I'm completely bonkers."

Jefferson smirked faintly. "Quite...but Seamstress is a mouthful. May I call you 'Maddie'? Or is that offensive to you?"

She shrugged. "It is true that I am mad - how can I be offended by the honest truth? ' _Maddie'_. I think that's quite clever. I like that. Yes, you may call me Maddie."

Jefferson found himself smiling, regaining his charm despite his exhaustion, and he gave her an effortlessly graceful bow, removing his hat with a practiced ease and allowing it to tumble down his threadbare arm before straightening and catching it in his other hand.

Delighted, Maddie gave him a little clap which warmed his heart. She smiled at him, but then suddenly looked unsure. She studied his hat and frowned a little.

"So...would you like to explain you came by such a fine hat?"

Jefferson chuckled, flipping said hat and resting it back atop his shaggy head. "That's easy - _I made it_."

Maddie laughed, startling him with her sudden change in mood as she motioned to the hat on his head. "I think not. This...treasure, it is obvious it was made by a skilled Hatter...not a thieving rapscallion - and from the condition of your suit, I _know_ you did not have the funds to buy it."

Jefferson was horribly offended...and a little hurt. Since when did she think she knew him? He'd lain with her once, and now she knew everything about him?

"I _am_ a…"

"A _what_?" the pale-haired mad woman asked softly as if challenging him to again dare claim the exquisite work as his. "A conniving, criminal cad? A lying, light-fingered larcener? A selfish, swindling scoundrel?"

It hurt, being called out, because Jefferson knew everything she accused him of being was the honest truth. He had become not much more than a common housebreaker - and how had that happened, when all he'd set out to do was live a life of adventure? Come to think of it, just when was the last time he'd felt regretful for his actions? Exactly when was the last time he'd felt any kind of true guilt? Back before he'd become ill, before the magic had literally somehow landed in his lap. Back when he'd had a home, a family, when he'd had -

 _Cadmea._

He'd felt guilt when he'd denied her his love - and he _had_ loved her. _But it hadn't been enough._ He'd regretted hurting her and leaving. _But not enough to stay._ He'd honestly thought Cadmea beneath him, then, a ball chained to his leg, threatening to sink him, drown him in a sea of dreaded mediocrity - now _he_ was the one who didn't deserve _her_.

" _I was_...a Hatter," he mumbled guiltily, turning the Portal hat in his hands and blinking away a sudden vision of a girl long lost, with unruly thick brown hair and wounded soft grey eyes. "And a damned good one."

"Perhaps you might have been... _once_ ," the madwoman he'd so recently christened 'Maddie' said disdainfully, her suddenly sharp eyes merciless.

 _But no more._

It was right then and there that Jefferson recalled why he _hated_ Wonderland - if he ever came back it would be too soon. There was something about the place that disturbed emotions he'd thought long buried...or perhaps it was just _her_. She truly _was_ mad.

"Wait here, I have something for you," Maddie suddenly whispered, and hurried off beyond the trees.

Jefferson ran a hand through is too-long hair and sighed heavily, wondering if he should cut and run while he had the chance - but honestly, he was lonely, and despite her mercurial mood changes, he felt himself anticipating her return. He didn't really know why he suddenly craved her company - he had become accustomed to being alone.

He had begun his adventures alone, traveling fearlessly through the portal, through the doors, but then he'd run low on funds, and that was when he'd begun taking the curious and the rich with him - they'd paid well to see their curiosity sated, and word had traveled about Jefferson and his uncanny ability.

But...sometimes the people he'd gone into a world with didn't survive the unexpected violence that sometimes occurred. His reputation had taken a few too many hits when certain travelers hadn't returned, and new people, confused people who couldn't figure out why they were suddenly in a different, wholly unrecognizable place came to light. But it hadn't been his fault, really. He'd warned the travelers, the same amount of people had to go in as came out. What business was it of his if they couldn't escape, fell ill, or simply fell behind? And he could not be expected to just remain in an unfamiliar world forever, could he?

Maybe he had taken advantage of some people, the drunken and the poor, in able to get back home, but the Enchanted Forest was doubtlessly a better place than the one he'd taken them from, right? He'd done them a favor, and hadn't even charged them for his services! But bad news traveled fast, and he'd been drowning in debt again by the time he'd been approached by the devious Rumplestiltskin. A few jumps here and there, collecting and trading rare items, and everything was - quite literally - golden. Now here he was, being made to feel the fool by a madwoman - in that damned place called _Wonderland_ of all places.

Perhaps when he was done here, when the search for him by certain interested parties had died down, when he had finally retrieved Rumple's latest bloody treasure, he would go back to his village - not to visit his parents, no, they wouldn't want to see him, had said as much when he left - but it might lighten his heart to see Cadmea again, even from afar. If he could see her living her simple life back home, maybe even _wed_ by now -

The sudden pain that jolted his chest at the thought made him stumble, and a tiny rocking horsefly neighed in protest as he jostled it from it's feeding in the flowers.

How had he never thought of how it might make him feel to see her married to another man?

His sudden bereavement was squashed in it's infancy by the Seamstress. She pushed a wrapped bundle into his arms with a sweet smile and unfocused eyes.

Jefferson juggled the heavy package and grinned. "A gift? For me? I'm...touched."

Maddie crossed her eyes. "So am I!"

Jefferson cleared his throat. "I - ahem. Thank...you? What is it?"

The Seamstress bit her lips uncertainly. "Since the moment you first stumbled into Tulgey Wood from the Queen's maze, I have felt - compelled. My madness - and I know I am mad, quite hopelessly so, and growing madder by the day - it makes me bitter, irrational. I also feel the need to apologize."

"For what?" he challenged. "Calling me names? Recognizing a selfish, ungrateful brat of a man when you see one?"

"I-I'm not sure. I cannot apologize for seeing the truth where it lies."

Jefferson rolled his eyes.

"This gift - I have crafted a suit and coat to match all that darkness in your heart, Once-Hatter. One worthy of your extraordinary hat. One worthy of a villain."

Jefferson felt like she'd slapped him. To insult him with a smile, without even really knowing him, and then to give him a gift of apology, only to turn right around and insult him again?!

He stared at her in disbelief, trembling in fury...and then abruptly remembered he _was_ talking to a mad person.

Looking down at the brown wrapped package in his hands, he bit his cheek, trying to reign in his outrage, because arguing with the insane couturier again would begin to drive _him_ mad. So shaking his head at himself for ever thinking of coming back to this place, he knelt on one knee, placing the package on the grass, and unfolded it.

Jefferson was stunned speechless at the quality of the long leather and vertically-crushed, silk-velvet coat he first touched. He'd never seen anything like it. The tailoring was impeccable, the stitches all but invisible. It was all black, ankle-length, fitted tightly at the top and then flaring down from the waist into full, split-winged folds at the bottom. It had a wickedly high folded leather collar, and it and the wide, curling lapels were embossed with heavy, full-blown roses and intricate rolled edging.

The wide gauntlet cuffs, and two stylized, bat-wing faux-pocket flaps that cleverly drew attention to the fitted waist, matched the collar. Heavy ornate silver buttons pinned the gauntlets at the wrist, and three more on either side decorated the pocket-points at the waist. More of the undoubtedly dear, small fortune in silver buttons lined the closure of the coat.

Jefferson blinked, moving his lips, trying to find words, only to see the folded suit still waiting for inspection. He carefully set the coat to the side, and unfolded the rest.

"Leather breeches?" he dryly commented a moment later, holding up the tight leggings of butter-soft black leather. He twitched a dark brow over his shoulder at the seamstress, and her pink lips smirked.

"What, am I going to a fancy dress ball as a pirate?"

The Mad Seamstress combed a restless hand over and over through the heavy length of her white hair. "Practicality, my friend. Those will last much longer on your trips than woven cloth, the snugness makes them less likely to be caught upon something when you are in need of a swift exit, and they will protect your skin. All of the leather is fairy be-spelled, so no need to worry about them shrinking or moldering if they get wet."

Jefferson still felt bemused, cautious about the snugness violating the sovereignty of certain...manly bits, but set the breeches aside. He picked up a shirt of burgundy with stiff, high collar points and ruffled cuffs, and a smooth burnished dark red leather waistcoat with black, rolled silk edging, and double rows of smaller silver buttons. A long, raw silk red and black patterned cravat completed the ensemble. There was no question that it was indeed a handsome set of clothing - it rivaled anything that could have come out of the greatest Royal Clothing Houses in all the kingdoms, even the Metaxas, though it was obviously a bit eccentric.

Concerning his current enterprise, however, it was perfectly befitting. Dark and dramatic, intimidating and attention grabbing as well as diverting if one needed to keep to the shadows. To be quite honest, it was breathtaking.

"Well, Jefferson, what are you waiting for?" Maddie the Seamstress snapped. "It's rude to keep a lady waiting. My hut is just around the trees, and there are cloths and hot water warming in the pot by the fire - go bathe, and then try it on. It will fit perfectly."

"How would you know? Clearly the suits be-spoken," Jefferson asked snarkily. "You've never even measured me."

"But I've had my hands on you. Talent, silly boy - if you had any, you'd already know that. Now go and refresh yourself - you'll feel much better, I promise you."

Jefferson blushed at the reminder of their first heated joining, and then huffed at the insult, but shrugged it off. "Exactly what kind of _lady_ are you?" he asked her under his breath as he took the clothing into her humble hut to change.

When he came back out later, he was quite obviously strutting.

He'd bathed before the warmth of her fire, glancing around curiously, and had taken advantage of the shears he found on her table to trim his damp hair, though he didn't want to brave the blades and rough soap to try and shave his three days worth of dark stubble. He'd been surprised when he'd pulled on his boots and coat, and turned to examine himself critically in her long, age-spotted looking glass. In the past year he'd changed quite dramatically, becoming leaner, taller - and the clothing complimented the rakish stubble on his sharp jaw, the troubling darkness crowding in his dark-lashed, blue-gray eyes.

The cat had been right - he _had_ become a wicked man, after all.

Maddie watched him now with pale, wide eyes. "You…you _look_ \- "

"Yes?" Jefferson asked with smoldering eyes peering out from under the cocked rim of his hat, and an expectant smirk, rocking back on his boot heels and holding the wide lapels of his coat. He knew very well he looked damned good - good enough to expect her to rip off her gown and throw herself into his waiting arms -

"You look...like a man trollop." the Seamstress said, furrowing her fine brown brows together.

Jefferson's jaw dropped. He blinked at her.

"And _clearly_ the trousers were a mistake - " she cocked her head to one side and looked pointedly at his crotch " - they're so tight one can see all the way to glory. _Naughty_." She licked her lips and sighed.

Jefferson inhaled sharply and choked on his own spit.

"Ah, well, it does not matter. Leather has give. I'm not certain if it will ever have quite _that_ much give, though…hmm."

Jefferson couldn't stop coughing - if she didn't shut up, he was going to die. He automatically yanked both sides of his coat shut over his groin and shakily buttoned it shut.

The Seamstress gave him a vague, pretty pout with her soft pink lips. "May I see the back?" She asked huskily.

Jefferson's heart began thudding hard inside his chest, his fierce attraction warring with humiliation.

"No," he told her firmly, mulishly, sticking his chin up.

"Well, I suppose I mustn't argue - the suit was a gift after all, not a bribe," she sighed again.

Jefferson paused. "You...are you trying to say that you want me again?"

Maddie rolled her eyes emphatically. "A woman would have to be dead as dust not to want _you_. I would tell you not to let it go to your head, but it's far too late for that. You well know you're a beautiful man."

Jefferson felt both pride and embarrassment at her words, but mostly he was thinking of taking the coat off and letting her look her fill. She may be mad, but experience told him she was lovely, all pale skin and hair and eyes, small in stature, but fit as a fiddle and twice as curvy beneath her black, form-fitting dress.

"If I recall correctly, that's the second time you've referred to me in an effeminate way. Are you trying to emasculate me? Men are not beautiful or pretty. Men are good-looking, or handsome," he told her firmly.

"Neither of those descriptions suit you," the Seamstress shrugged, and Jefferson scowled until she continued in her hushed tone, "you truly _are_ beautiful, Once-Hatter - though you _do_ need to shave."

Jefferson flushed a little, but then his charm again took over and he bowed before her, taking her hand in his to place his lips on her fingers.

"Thank you for the gift, Maddie," he told her once he'd straightened. "My other suit has seen better days, I'm afraid."

"Oh, you're quite welcome, Jefferson. Evil cannot seduce in rags, after all."

Jefferson clenched his jaw, all good-humor fading from his expression. _"I do not understand you!"_ he snapped, turning away from her to pace. "Are you truly _that_ mad? I am _not_ a villain! I am _not_ evil! I - "

Maddie stopped him with a hand on his roughened jaw.

Jefferson froze mid-step, and looked down at her through suddenly tear-blurred eyes with an undefinable ache in his chest.

"Prove it," Maddie whispered to him, and he was startled to see tears of her own forming in her pale eyes.

Jefferson stared down at her dumbly until he felt his tears well and spill over. As soon as the first trail of wet heat burned down his cheek, he growled in denial and wrapped her up into his arms, his lips falling hard onto hers.

Maddie's lips fell open on a gasp, and took it as an invitation to kiss her ever more deeply. She whimpered, and lifted her hands to dive her fingers into his short, dark hair, fingertips twining desperately through the newly sleek curls.

Jefferson drew back to catch his breath, and when he rested his forehead against hers, opened his eyes to look at her, he almost dropped her in terror.

Maddie was looking at him with such absolute adoration, such tenderness that it made his heart trip. He knew that look, that emotion too well. It was enough to make him release her and turn his back, squeezing his eyes shut against the memory of another slight girl who'd looked at him with her heart in her eyes.

Jefferson's hands shook, and he lifted them to clutch the lapels of his coat in an effort to calm them. His breathing was harsh, his legs trembling, and a sob escaped his throat before he lifted a hand to scrub away the wetness on his cheeks.

"I-I need to go," he finally said resolutely, once he got his heart to calm. "I have a job to do." And he could go now, he decided, his appearance had changed that dramatically; he would be safe to be on the move again.

"Why did you come back, Jefferson?" Maddie asked in her soft whisper. "Truthfully."

Jefferson lifted his head, but still didn't turn around to face her. He just...couldn't, not yet.

"I've always wanted more then what I had, what my family could offer. I gave up everything to have my freedom, to do as I wished. I told myself I came back here because I needed to hide for a time - but it was really because I am lost. My freedom means everything, but the way in which I gained it - haunts me. It seems adventure and riches do little to comfort a lonely man."

"So you came to me - a mad woman - for comfort?"

"There is something familiar about you - your kindness."

"I am a kind lunatic, then."

Jefferson tilted his head at her, his expression as serious as it would ever be. "Your kindness makes you lovely, madness or no."

Maddie gave a dark, low laugh that was not much more than a sigh. He knew then that she did not think he spoke true.

Crossing her arms across her waist as if hugging herself, she jerked her head in the direction of the path out. "On your way, then, Once-Hatter, I doubt very much we shall see one another again - but do this mad woman a favor, and be careful."

"I will be fine, madam," Jefferson told her with a touch of fond impatience, both dismayed and eager to get out of Wonderland.

"I wonder. Just remember - you've become a villain - and villains, sadly, do not often get Happy Endings."

A chill ran down his spine as Jefferson stared hard at her. "Did you just _curse_ me?"

"I'm no witch, I couldn't even if I wanted to - and I do not. No, if there's a curse on you, it's one you brought upon yourself. Be safe, Jefferson of the Enchanted Forest," Maddie said, and turned away from him as if washing her hands of him.

Jefferson did not hesitate any longer to escape back through the mirror. He was worried he'd end up like her if he stayed any longer.

He never even realized in his haste, that she'd mentioned the name of his homeland - and he'd never given it to her.

* * *

 **A/N:** _So, what a tangle. I had Cadmea create and give Jefferson his trademark suit that we all know from the show - because how ironic is it that he would eventually meet his wife wearing the gorgeous suit Cadmea had handmade for him? Ouch. I'm sorry for the overly detailed descriptions in this chapter, but I wanted to get the mental pictures straight, and apologies if I fudged any details. BTW - the line about villains not getting happy endings is from Mr. Gold, if you recall. I hope you'll all hang around for the next post - thanks again for reading!_


	6. Chapter 6

**The Madness of Cadmea; or The Lunatic Couturier**

* * *

SIX

* * *

" _Your heart is gold,_

 _And how am I the one,_

 _That you've chosen to love?"_

 _-Song by Plumb, Don't Deserve You_

* * *

Jefferson had almost convinced himself that he would give up his thieving ways on the long journey back to his home village after returning from his last job after leaving Wonderland.

He'd decided to find out exactly how Cadmea was faring, so he might be able to put his worries to rest. SInce he'd thought of the possibility that she might have married, he hadn't been able to concentrate on much else, and had almost completely botched his last job as a result. He'd gotten completely off-track, distracted by memories of her brought on by Maddie's comments and not so gentle reprimands.

By the time he arrived back in the town of his childhood, he'd talked himself into believing Cadmea would have waited for him, that just perhaps, he might be able to beg her forgiveness and take her away with him to be wed and settle down with their own modest but honestly come-by tailor shop.

He arrived late in the afternoon on a cold fall day, his scruff grown out into a neatly trimmed short beard, clad in his new suit, his tell-tale hat safe in a case by his side as he observed the small changes in the roads and structures with an ache in his heart.

Picking up his lone piece of luggage, he crossed the street from his point of arrival and headed for the bustling nearby tavern to ease his thirst, gather his courage, and ask some carefully worded questions about Cadmea and her family.

Once inside the clean, family-owned structure, Jefferson settled gratefully into a small table near the bar and ordered a drink - he knew he should eat, but he was too anxious to have an appetite.

The bar matron who served him was the chatty wife of the owner, he recognized, and he casually mentioned he was a tailor looking for work as he sipped at his ale.

The older woman looked sad for a moment before brightening slightly. "Well, if it's work you be after, you've come to the wrong place - we once had two rather fine shops here, but they've been shut down for a some years now. 'Course, if you were of a mind to open a place of yer' own, you could probably make a killin'. The local folk grow tired of having to travel elsewhere for decent clothing. The stuff the tinkers bring through is so cheaply made 'tis hardly fit for feed sacks."

Jefferson had frozen after the first sentence. He finally gulped down the ale in his mouth and carefully set down the glass.

"Odd, that two such fine shops would both close their doors around the same time. May I ask if you know what happened?"

The matron sighed and shook her head, wiping her worn hands on her tidy apron. "'Tis a sad tale, indeed. First the hatter's son took off to parts unknown, took ill and died if the gossips anythin' to go by. Left behind his poor parents and a fine heritage, not to mention he was s'posed to marry the Metaxas only daughter - they was the family what owned the Clothing House here. The hatter and his wife eventually left the village and never returned. The daughter pert near lost her mind when news of the lad passing came, and tried to kill 'erself - or so it's been said."

Jefferson frowned, blinking uncertainly, his heart pounding in his ears. "This son of the hatter...he died?"

 _Why had the monks sent news of his death when he'd so spectacularly recovered? And Cadmea...Cadmea had tried to_ kill _herself...?_

"Aye, 'tis a shame, he were a decent lad, and a pretty one, too. Went adventurin' and caught a fever - died in a monastery in the north they say. I don't think 'is parents ever even rightly found out."

Jefferson swallowed against the panicked nausea rising in his throat. "And what became of the other shop? The owners with - with the daughter?"

"Oh, one day the lass just disappeared - most folks think she wandered into the forest and died. There was some talk of a letter left behind, but no one knows for sure. The day after she went missing, her father arranged a search party - the men were gone for a week, took dogs and everythin', but her trail ended abruptly - there was no blood, but there was no sign of the poor girl, neither. Never did find her. Her parents waited a year or so, then packed up and left the village - couldn't stand to live in the same place she'd died, I suppose. So much tragedy, just from a boy leaving a girl alone. Not to make light, but 'tis usually the other way around, eh?

Jefferson stared at the gleaming rim of his glass, lips parted, eyes burning and painfully dry. His lungs refused to accept oxygen properly, like he'd been struck a fatal blow.

"Can I get you somethin' to eat, fella? You're lookin' mighty pale for having just come in off the high road."

Jefferson summoned a small smile and shook his head, feeling numb as he fished a coin out of his purse and laid it in the woman's hand. "No, no, thank you. I must - must continue on, if there is no work here. I appreciate your time."

The matron smiled and declined her graying head before turning away.

 _Cadmea was dead_.

The smile dropped off Jefferson's lips as if it had never been, and suddenly he picked up the glass and downed it in two gulps, before pushing back his chair, grabbing his bag, and hurrying out the doors.

* * *

The matron had spoken the truth - the shops were closed, his family's now housing a cobblers, and the Metaxas large shop now owned by a local doctor. Their home, however, was boarded up and slightly dilapidated. The roof was missing half it's fancy painted shingles, and some of the expensive windows had been broken in with back garden was overgrown and dismal, the stone bench under the tall tree shoved over and broken. It had once been a bright, lively place - but no one had moved into it, doubtless because of it's sad history. Village folk especially, were wary of such places.

Jefferson stared at the large, once lovely home, trying to recall just how long he'd been away. Had it been so long? How had everything changed so quickly?

Jefferson sat down hard in the tall grass, his bag tumbling down beside him. He looked toward the windows of Cadmea's room on the second floor, and for an instant saw her small smiling face in it as he had so many times, cheeks flushed, eyes twinkling with pleasure at seeing him approach, her small hand raised in an enthusiastic wave. He blinked, and the vision was gone.

Cadmea was _gone_ , he'd broken her heart, and left her, and she'd died and taken all the fragile life and light and love around her with her. She'd always been so good and kind, so quick to forgive his mistakes. She'd loved him so purely, he knew, had always known, and he'd been undeserving. He'd neglected her. He'd as well as murdered her. She would never be able to forgive _this_...because he would never see her again.

Jefferson dropped his face into his hands, teeth ravaging his lower lip, face crumpling at the splintered pain in his chest. His breath drew in in hisses and released in raw sobs, but he found he could not weep - and the realization made him think that perhaps Maddie had been right all along.

He truly _was_ a villain.

* * *

Jefferson left the village the next day, unsure of where he was going, simply paying for passage on a carriage and pretending to sleep so he would not be coerced into conversing with his fellow passengers. His misery hung over the vehicle like a cloud, though, and no one made much small talk.

He was jolted into unwelcome awareness eventually, when the carriage driver shook his arm hard, and announced they'd reached the end of the journey. The carriage would not be travelling any farther that night.

Jefferson's only response was to push the man out of the way, stumble to his knees in the darkness outside the carriage and empty the meager contents of his stomach into the dirt.

The hired driver dropped his bag next to his side and muttered something about 'drunken louts' before striding off into the night on bowed legs to attend to his horses.

Jefferson knelt on the ground until his head stopped spinning, and then wiped his mouth carelessly on the back of his hand. His breath hitched, the ache in his chest still so deep he could hardly breathe. Gulping air like water to stave off the panic he felt rising, he dropped his head back on his shoulders - and caught the sight of his hat case sitting on the ground beside him. His eyes widened as he stared at it, his head lifting, turning like a predator's. A haze of red settled over his vision, and then he bared his teeth and growled, narrowing his eyes and stretching out one arm to land a ferocious blow to it.

The bag flew several yards, thumping onto it's side in a stand of tall grass. Jefferson stood, muttering expletives, and shaking the sting out of his gloved fist. He stomped towards it, intent on setting his boot into the tough leather and crushing the precious item inside along with it - when suddenly he was brought to an abrupt stop by the appearance of Rumplestiltskin before him.

" _Get out of my way,"_ Jefferson bit out, lowering his head to glare into the golden eyes of the shorter male.

"And watch you wantonly destroy such a powerful magical item? Don't be foolish, my dear boy. _You'll re-gret it,"_ the maniacally grinning creature sing-songed.

Near-crippled by his pain, Jefferson none-the-less drew himself up and stared down his nose at the beast. "So is that why you're here? To keep me from crushing my own property into the dust?"

Rumplestiltskin huffed. "Believe what you wish, dearie, but someday you'll thank me; your work is hardly begun." He blinked at Jefferson slowly and hummed thoughtfully. "Why, Jefferson, is that heartbreak I smell on you? I wasn't aware you even _had_ a heart."

Jefferson clenched his teeth at the insult, knowing he didn't really have a leg to stand on - the life he'd led this past few years hadn't exactly been tempered by any other emotion save greed.

" _What makes you think you know anything about me?"_ Jefferson snarled, taking a threatening step forward, knowing even as he did that the dark creature before him could end him with a flick of his fingers - and perhaps that was what he wanted.

Rumplestiltskin seemed infuriatingly unmoved. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and brought a hand to his face, tapping a finger against his jaw. "Do you really think you could hide anything from me? I know your soul, portal-jumper, and the darkness it bathes in. This, what you're feeling now?" he commented with a grin, "This is simply the price of your selfishness coming due."

"It - it wasn't supposed to _be_ like this!"

"Like _what_? What did you think was going to happen when you turned your back on True Love, Jefferson-lad? But there's the rub, ay? You _didn't_ think, did you? Just went on your merry way, without a thought to the mess you left behind. Honestly, it's refreshing - I haven't seen anyone screw up this badly since - well, we won't go into that. Suffice it to say, nothing ever goes as planned, boy. You got to say goodbye to your better half, take refuge in that, at least."

Jefferson went limp, all of his anger leaving him as he found himself clutching fistfuls of his vest and shirt as if trying to ease the pain in his chest. He breathed shallowly, quickly, eyes darting around restlessly.

"I-I broke her," he finally breathed, releasing his cramped fists to run them shakily through his hair.

Rumplestiltskin's cold eyes held no pity for him. "Everything breaks eventually, lad," he quietly allowed.

Jefferson's eyes darted back to the creature and he dropped his hands to fist at his sides, swallowing and licking his lips nervously. "Bring her back."

The creature cackled at him. "You know better than to ask me for the likes of that. I can't bring anyone back from the dead," Rumplestiltskin said.

"B-but she didn't deserve what happened to her! It's _my_ fault! _I don't care what you have to do, who I must kill, what I have to steal, just bring her back, exchange me for her, I DON"T CARE! JUST DO IT!"_ Jefferson roared.

Rumplestiltskin only lifted a brow. "Can't. Sorry, not sorry. Speaking of, I do have a job for you - but it's dangerous. Could end up losing your head." He stifled a small smile.

Jefferson, huffing and wide-eyed, barely heard him. "Swear to me...swear to me that you can't bring her back from the dead."

Rumplestiltskin sighed, voice wheedling. "Y'know I can't."

" _Swear it!"_ Jefferson spat, red-faced.

"I swear on my honor, I _cannot_ bring your lady back from the dead. Happy now?"

"I don't believe you. You - you _always_ have something hiding up your sleeve! Nothing happens that doesn't have your hand in it!"

Rumplestiltskin tilted his head. "I _will_ tell you this true, lad - if I could bring her back from the dead,

I would - if not just to shut you up. I think you might be going a bit 'round the bend."

All at once Jefferson wilted, all the fight gone out of him. Exhausted, body and soul, he stared at the ground between his feet. Then, out of nowhere, his lips slowly parted. A shy smile peeked out, bit by bit, and then a full blown grin that stretched sharp and white from ear to ear, accompanied by a loud, unsteady laugh.

"'Around the bend!'" he repeated with tremulous joy. _"That's it!"_ he yelled.

Rumplestiltskin lifted a brow.

Jefferson looked at him, eyes and hands thrown wide in excitement. "Don't you get it? I _must_ be a little mad!"

"Looks like more than a little from here, dearie," the imp muttered behind a simpering smile, playing along. "Why are you suddenly claiming to be insane, lad?"

Jefferson threw his head back and laughed, but then by and by, the laugh turned into sobs - and then he was crying. At last.

He dropped his head to look at Rumplestiltskin and his eyes were red-rimmed, overflowing with fat tears, running down his lean cheeks and dripping off his jawline. His dark brows twisted with despair as he looked at the imp with a broken, struggling smile.

"I must be mad," he whispered to himself, and then to Rumplestiltskin, "It makes sense, doesn't it? No...no man in his _right_ mind would have left her in the first place."

Silence fell then, as Jefferson stood and simply cried. His heart really did feel like it was breaking.

If this was how Cadmea had felt when he'd left her...Gods, then he wanted to die, too.

"Still not interested in the job?" Rumplestiltskin finally asked cajolingly over the crickets and other night sounds..

Jefferson slowly unclenched his jaw, absently rubbing the painful hinges with his fingers. He wiped at the wetness on his cheeks, and tried to think. He really did not have the energy to go scarpering off for the imp at present - but what else would he do? If he did not distract himself, he would find a crate of spirits and drown himself to death with the alcohol.

Perhaps if he was lucky - or _unlucky_ \- enough, he might find his doom anyway.

" _Villains do not get happy endings,"_ Maddie's voice echoed in his swirling mind. It was a terrifying reminder. She had not been threatening him, but trying to warn him. As if she'd already known what he would find if he returned home. Villains do not get happy endings...

' _No,'_ Jefferson thought to himself, _'that they don't - but they also don't care. They don't feel.'_ Villains answered to no one, not even their hearts. They took what they wanted, and they did as they wished - and woe betide anyone who stood in their way.

Jefferson dropped his unsteady hand to his side again and looked up at Rumplestiltskin from beneath wet lashes - but this time his eyes were cold and hard. One more sniff, and he blinked away his agony. He smoothed his hair, and set his sore jaw. He straightened his waistcoat with an efficient tug, and resettled his leather coat upon his shoulders. He turned away to retrieve his hat case, and then walked stiffly back to the imp with a strange, fierce little smile on his face.

Rumplestiltskin thought that the smile looked feral, like a sharp-toothed fox that had cornered it's prey - and then Jefferson spoke.

"Tell me."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Hey, guys! :) There is another new chapter posted after this, so be sure to check it out. I'm sure you can tell roughly where this 'job' is headed - or can you? Don't jump the gun, a lot is going to happen in the next two chapters after these. Please let me know what you think! I try to research and get as many facts right as I can, but I'm sure some things slip. Please forgive me if I fudged any details. Thanks to all who read, commented, faved and followed. I truly appreciate every reader._


	7. Chapter 7

**The Madness of Cadmea; or The Lunatic Couturier**

* * *

SEVEN

* * *

" _I loved and I loved, and I lost you,_

 _I loved and I loved and I lost you,_

 _I loved and I loved and I lost you,_

 _And it hurts like hell."_

 _\- Fleurie, Hurts Like Hell_

* * *

The Seamstress could not recall how long it had been since the villain - _Jefferson_ \- had left. It felt like it had been forever. The days after he left Wonderland were near exact copies of one another; a dark night full of unclear nightmares where she always awoke crying out his name, and would blindly lie to herself that she had not been doing that long before he even first appeared in Wonderland. There would be a cold bracing wash in the stream in a failed attempt to clear her jumbled mind, scratching out a breakfast from scraps proffered by the wily cat and woodland finds, then cleaning and mindless sewing and sewing and _sewing_ , and tea - that is _if_ she remembered on her good days, or if the cat arrived to gently remind her to eat. Her labor was her only escape.

The Seamstress had long forgotten the name Jefferson had so briefly given her. It was odd to think she could so clearly recall his but not her own, and as a result she'd concentrated on thoughts of him often soon after he left, a bewildering part of her terrified that she _would_ forget him.

As the days passed, his dark-lashed, blue-grey siren's eyes were soon the only part of his face that she could clearly recall, save for the times when the blackbirds that continually pestered the cat swooped in, feathers rippling, spread wide, driving against the dusty streams of the sun. It was then that she could see him walking away from her, the dark folds of his coat trailing dramatic and long behind him. In truth, any other vague memories she had of him were of him with his head down between his broad shoulders like the leader of some fallen army, walking away, _always_ _walking_ _away_ …

She wanted to chase the madness right out of her head, sometimes, thinking it might bring him back. She could have perhaps pretended she was not mad when they'd first met, but ultimately it would have been a useless endeavor - it wouldn't have been enough. She didn't think anything could be enough to keep him from leaving if he wished.

If she were not heartless, she would have wondered more often if it was her madness that chased him away, or something else. If she _had_ been in possession of her heart, she suspected the uncertainty would have devastated her, so she was ever thankful it was missing, hidden away somewhere beyond the dark villain's reach. His memory was somehow still an ache within her veins, though, and the glimpse of sun in his eyes wouldn't be banished or forgotten, no matter how little sense it made.

One late evening a knock came upon her door, and she started, for never had the sound come at such an hour. She was hesitant to move from her seat near the fire, for she was quite alone save for the company of her shadow - the cat had disappeared some time earlier in the day and hadn't returned - but the choice was taken from her as the simple door was kicked inward, the wooden latch splintering from the force.

The Seamstress was too confused, indeed too stunned to move. She sat with her hands buried in her sewing, head turned to the door, and in from the darkness marched six soldiers wearing the queen's colors and carrying swords and torches and long pikes.

"Are you the Mad Seamstress of Tulgey Wood?" one of the blank-faced soldiers snapped from beneath his silver helm, voice echoing hollowly.

The Seamstress felt her eyes widen comically, her brows climb up her forehead, and she wordlessly rolled her long, sharp sewing needle between her fingers.

That was the night she was taken to the castle and ordered to labor in silks and satin's worth more than her life for the unforgiving Queen of Hearts.

* * *

Once the Seamstress was ensconced in a massive workroom in the castle, she finally stopped having screaming fits, much to the relief of the soldier and the queen's overworked Knave.

One could not blame her, the Seamstress thought with a sniff, being snatched in the night from the only home she'd ever known and made to walk a narrow bridge to the castle with an endless, black yawning chasm on either side would rattle anyone's brains, especially hers, which were literally scrambled beyond reason. The skies around the mighty castle and mind-boggling maze were moonless, starless, and dotted with the gigantic moving shapes of floating landmasses. It would be a terrifying sight to behold even in the light of day...and on top of all that, they'd not even allowed her time to retrieve her favorite shears. She felt naked without them!

"The Queen demands a sample of your finest work by High tea tomorrow," the Knave announced impatiently, tossing her worn bags at her feet, already closing the large iron doors. "This is your task - if she approves, she will want to know how you came to be in Wonderland, and I assure you, it would save your head to have a good answer."

"Just a 'good answer'? Not necessarily an honest answer, then?" the Seamstress asked flippantly.

The Knave scowled at her and slammed the doors shut.

The Seamstress shrugged, stood and listened to the tumblers click in the lock, and then turned to examine the room. There were three magnificent stained-glass windows set into the wall far above, but they were dull with the night. She could not see the soaring ceiling in the darkness, for beyond the fire in the large hearth set well behind a bed-sized wooden desk, there was no light. A tray on the desk held a large faded teapot - a touch told her it was stone cold - and a chipped cup. The heathens hadn't seen fit to offer cream or honey, nor even a crust of bread. _Mmph_.

Turning in circles away from the desk, she continued to examine her surroundings. Abnormally tall shelves lined the walls, nearly every cloth bolt jammed into the stacks a shade of black, white, red, gold or silver. There was silk and satin, leather and lace. There were prints the likes of which she'd never seen, yards upon yards of ribbon spools and open drawers and baskets overfilled with twinkling notions; jeweled buttons, chains, real gold and silver frog enclosures, sequins and nonsensically-high stiff lace collars and flowing cuffs. One dark corner held up to twenty dressmakers mannequins, and another a long, narrow table covered in tapes, tools, needles, pincushions, chalk, thread _and...shears._

Unknowingly, a disturbing smile crossed her lips as she walked toward the table. She watched her hand reach out, as if directed by someone else, and pick up the ridiculously large silver shears. She held them up, walking slowly to stand before the fire, and found herself laughing as she examined their sharp perfection in the wavering light of the flames.

* * *

If the Knave was surprised by the look of boredom on the Seamstresses face late the next day when he arrived with a guard to escort her, he was too stress-ridden to show it.

"The Queen demands to see you," the Knave said through gritted teeth. "Where is your work?"

"I'm afraid I could not oblige her highness," the Seamstress announced.

"Y-you, _what_?" the Knave spluttered.

"The finest work I ever accomplished has sadly departed this land. Some time ago, I'm afraid. It was a bespoke coat and suit, and it has no equal. Since I can never surpass that quality, it would be an insult to the queen to even try." The Seamstress yawned, patting her mouth politely.

The knave looked around, thrown, as if to see evidence of her work strewn about. There was nothing. His face was rust red when he returned his attention to her.

"This is unacceptable, especially after her highness has offered you refreshment and safe shelter! She will order your head off your shoulders for this!"

Refreshment and shelter? _Pfft_. Cold tea and prison, more the like.

The Seamstress sighed impatiently. "Very well, if she must, then she must."

The Knave sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth. "You really _are_ mad!"

"It seems so," the Seamstress hummed.

Growling, the Knave threw a directive at the hollow-faced soldiers and they came behind her to march her out of the room.

"Will she truly have me beheaded?" she asked the Knave's back as they moved through the echoing corridors.

" _Undoubtedly,"_ the Knave responded archly, and the Seamstress grinned.

When they reached the courtyard where the court gathered and where the throne was located, the Knave left her to mount the steps to the the red queen and heft a long, curling horn to his ear to listen to her speak through it. He spoke back to her in a low voice, and the Queen, hidden behind a many-layered veil, stiffened visibly and turned as if to stare down the ghostly Seamstress. She whispered into the horn again, and the Knave straightened with a smug look upon his face. He motioned to a soldier holding an ax nearby, and he turned out to be the queen's headsman.

The Seamstress saw the ax raise out of the corner or her eye, but continued to smile inanely at the queen.

The cut was painless and swift...and surprisingly not lethal.

The Seamstress dropped her smile, shifting her eyes to look down at herself, and then to look at her body upon the stones. She glanced over at the headsman, who held her severed head aloft by her long, tangled silver tresses, and then rolled her eyes.

"Well, this is very disappointing," the Seamstress sighed, how she had no idea for she was no longer attached to her lungs. "I'm still alive."

The headsman almost dropped her, her words caught him so off guard. She looked over at him and narrowed her eyes. "Not very competent at your job, are you? All swing, no follow through. _Tsk_. I could have done a better job with my shears."

The court gasped, and the headsman turned his masked face to look askance at the queen, but even the queen seemed taken aback. She whispered to the Knave again.

The white-faced Knave cleared his throat and gestured to the Seamstress with a shaking hand. "The Queen wishes to know how you came to this land."

The Seamstress drew the corners of her lips down. "Why do you ask as if it's such an impossible thing? I'll be happy to tell you - I simply woke up here, in the wood."

The Knave blustered, but she made a show of trying to shake her head with some humorous results. "I tell you true, I awoke in Tulgey Wood, mad as - well, as a March hare. I have my trade and nothing else - no memories of a life before, only insanity and scars. If my answer does not please you, please, by all means make the distance betwixt my neck and skull permanent. It matters little to me, and there is no one in this world who will lament my passing."

"But you are - _where_ are you from?" the Knave asked angrily. "You will answer if you wish to have your head reattached to your body!"

The Seamstress sighed again. "I do not know...now if you've quite finished, I demand to be properly beheaded."

The court gasped again, though there was a nervous laugh or two also to be heard.

The queen burbled something to the Knave again, and he straightened with a crick of his back. "The Queen wishes to know why you desire to die."

The Seamstress blinked. "I have no heart, your highness. No family, no warm memories. The man I would love if I could...became frightened of me and ran away. I live day-by-day fighting my own instinct to harm myself. This madness...is _maddening_." She gave a high-pitched giggle, then abruptly silenced herself, taking a bewildering deep breath before saying steadily, "I am content to die by your merciless hand."

The much-bedeviled Knave's jaw dropped. His eye twitched. The queen stiffened again.

Bored and frustrated, the Seamstress swung her pale eyes over to the nervous headsman and glared at him. The visual effect of her displeasure, along with the monotonous swinging of her raw, red-lined throat in the air made even the headsman draw back slightly.

The Knave suddenly announced, to the surprise of no one, "The Queen wishes you to know that, indeed, she is quite without mercy - and as such, she has no intentions of being the means of putting an end to your suffering."

The Seamstress opened her mouth to say something cutting and force the issue, but the headsman slapped his free, gloved hand over it.

The Knave gave the headsman a 'just so' nod, and continued on. "However, since outsiders are not welcome here, you will be banished beyond the Looking Glass. The kind of magic needed to bring you here no longer exists on the other side of the mirror. You will _never_ return."

The members of the court tittered behind their jeweled masks and fans. The queen waved languidly at the headsman, and he grunted as he bent to realign the Seamstresses head with her body, much like two magnets being snapped together,

After a long moment, the headsman picked her roughly up by the scruff and set her on her feet.

The Seamstress angrily bared her teeth, her hair a riotous mess, and then yanked up her black skirt to reveal a curving white thigh - and the large silver shears from the workroom strapped to the side of it. She expertly flipped the weighty shears into her hand, and made to thrust the sharp ends into the exposed side of her much abused throat.

The headsman was faster, however, and yanked the shears from her grip with a sharp sound of alarm and disbelief. He grabbed her shoulder with his other large, gloved hand as if to shake the madness out of her.

The crowd stepped back as one, shocked screams and shouts assaulting the charged air.

The Seamstress ducked angrily away from the big man, and fisted her hands, turning to stare intensely at the silent woman upon the throne - she didn't get another chance to open her mouth, as a number of guards dragged her off her feet and hauled her away down the bridge they'd marched her along the night before.

The Knave seemed distinctly relieved to see her go.

* * *

Down the path to the tall glass mirror they went, the Seamstress and her small crowd of hollow-faced guards.

The Seamstress scowled at the appearance of the mirror, and looked over to where the nosy caterpillar usually lounged to see that it had conveniently taken itself off to parts unknown, it's giant mushroom standing tall and alone...however, as she watched, a pair of large cat eyes appeared around the thick stem and blinked at her.

A guard threw her bags at her feet, and motioned for her to take them and step up to the mirror.

"Walk through, or I'll _throw_ you through," muttered the guard.

The Seamstress rubbed a palm across her aching, reddened neck, feeling a band of raw skin, and reached down to grab her belongings. She straightened, sneaking a sad smile from beneath her hair at the wide cat eyes, and then childishly stuck her pink tongue out at the guards before hopping backwards through the rippling surface of the mirror.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _The story is moving along a bit at last. The Queen of Hearts - I know it's supposed to be, well, spoilers - but I kind of waffled on that here. She could be, or not, I guess it doesn't matter too much to this particular story. (Don't ask me why it took the Queen so long to take notice of her)! Convenience!_

 _Keep in mind in the next chapter that Cadmea/The Seamstress has been in Wonderland for quite some time now, Jefferson's last visit there was around eight years before she was exiled. A lot has happened in the Enchanted Forest since then, including Jefferson's meeting and subsequent marriage to Priscilla and the arrival of Grace, their daughter; not necessarily in that order. Hmmm. Anytime, now… :) We'll be catching up with Storybrooke in and around Season 1-2 of OUAT. Please, keep reading and I'll keep writing._


	8. Chapter 8

**The Madness of Cadmea; or The Lunatic Couturier**

* * *

EIGHT

* * *

" _A man who wishes to make a profession of goodness in everything must necessarily come to grief among so many who are not good." - Luigi Ricci_

* * *

 _It was early in his career - indeed, just before his first Wonderland trip - in the Silver Thorn Tavern, that Jefferson first met a common but lovely lass named Priscilla. Well into his cups, something about her intrigued him - and he is honestly unsurprised when she forcefully dragged him to her bed._

 _When he wakes to discover her gone in the morning, he tells himself he is lucky to have avoided any emotional entanglements, and satisfied, goes on his merry way._

 _Priscilla is of a like mind, though when two months have gone without her natural visits, she does panic, for what is a thief on her own to do with a child?_

 _When her fourth month brings blood, she is both overjoyed with relief and saddened to the point of depression - which explains her actions later on when she is on a quest for an item in Wonderland, and instead of the miraculously valuable item, she returns with a the tiniest, unhappiest tot rescued from the bowels of the Duchess's manor kitchens in Wonderland. The babe was small and weak with hunger, and after a harsh upbraiding from Priscilla about its treatment, the pinched-faced scullery maid handed the noisy girl-child off with haste, and bade the other young woman a sullen good day._

 _Left outside the kitchen doors, gripping an orphaned infant with cold fingers, Priscilla found herself in much the same boat she'd been in before, and she briefly considered knocking upon the door and leaving the child back to it's fate - but within a bundle of graying rags, the most wonderous blue-gray eyes gazed trustfully upon her, and she found herself thinking of the handsome young man named Jefferson, and the child that may have been…_

 _Jefferson was in Camelot nearly two years later when he came upon Priscilla again - but the woman was after the same prize in the King's treasure room as he, and his selfishness was at it's worst. Retrieving the item, they helped each other to escape the King's guards - and somehow ended up sharing a bed once again._

 _It was a wounded Jefferson - still reeling from the death of Cadmea - whom found himself falling in love with the girl thief when she revealed that she had a child to care for. And if he looked into the two-year old tot's eyes and somehow saw his own, Priscilla was not one to correct him, for her secretly-adopted daughter, Grace, could have been his in age and looks anyway._

 _Jefferson, for the first time, his heart full of hope and mind spinning, hastily proposed on the spot._

* * *

It was when Jefferson decided not to do jobs anymore, that things began to go south.

Worried over the danger of their jobs, Jefferson not so gently set his foot down after he and Priscilla were married - they would not be using the hat portal anymore, for now they were responsible for the life of another, and the life of a portal jumper slash thief could surely not be a long one.

An adventurous spirit, and though a good mother, not an unselfish one, Priscilla argued with Jefferson's decision. To her knowledge, neither of them had other skills to market, how would they survive?

But Jefferson was adamant in his decision, and the pair stumbled through the next few years, and while they were hard times, they were inarguably some of the happiest handful of years either could recall.

One winter, their foraging in bad weather made Grace take ill, and Jackson found himself and Priscilla in a difficult spot. With no money for medicine and little to offer from the forest in the way of food, he found himself contemplating, and then getting back in touch with some of his old handlers - there was an object of certain value that had resurfaced of late, one he had failed to acquire years before. He lied when he explained it was not personal, for it was, but surely this one job would not ruin their bliss, and they would be set for years.

Priscilla was not in a place to argue - the years of lack of easy wealth and hard living had not been entirely kind to her, and she was sometimes quite unkind in her regard of her tattered home and husband. Jefferson, for all his handsomeness, was not so sharp-looking as he'd been before, what with having to sell off his bespelled wicked black suit piecemeal to put food on the table. It was truthfully the only time she'd ever seen him in tears. The only thing he'd kept was the coat, minus the silver buttons, and the hard work he'd put it though made the otherwise waterproof black velvet bleach orange and wear, and wither in the harsh sunlight.

And so Grace was left with a kindly neighbor, and Jefferson unearthed his hat box and only slightly ragged top hat, and Priscilla did not ask where he'd come by his talented hat, for the only other time she had, he'd gone very quiet for days, only speaking enough to say, "I made it, but it is not as I made it. I was deathly ill once, and when I woke from near death, it was as you see it. I thought it was a gift, but over the years...I think it was not, not at all. A gift is given freely, and I sometimes think that this gift took of my very life."

To cursed Wonderland they travelled, and to the manor of the much-hated March hare. It was the Hare that held the powerful Clock of Evermore, and more jealous a possession of it he could not have. Guards borrowed from the Queen of Hearts had been set around the object, making the process of getting in difficult - but not impossible for to such experienced thieves.

It was a wayward golden arrow that changed everything for Jefferson...he did not obtain the prize in his shock, and he lost his wife - but the value of the arrow that came back through the portal within her body did see Grace well again, and saw her fed throughout the last cruel days of winter.

* * *

 _Years later..._

Jefferson tried to ignore the odd twitch he received when the Evil Queen asked him to return to Wonderland - mostly because he had no damned intention whatsoever of doing it, especially since Priscilla's death there - that, and he knew by now that twitch, that certain tiny quirk of his right lower eyelid, boded nothing but ill.

But his pride had taken a hit, never mind the fact that he had long-since turned over a new leaf. He was no longer taking jobs that had anything to do with his hat and/or portal jumping, hadn't for some time, and had no intention of ever doing so again...until the doubt began settling in, seeping like the cold between the bricks of his crumbling forest home.

Jefferson worked hard, and long hours - he foraged, did labor and odd jobs, took in simple sewing from simple folks like a retired old woman with low income - and still he could not keep his daughter in a comfortable lifestyle. Perhaps if he returned to his old trade of making hats - but just the thought of touching another hat, magical or not, made the battered muscle of his heart twist painfully and pushed him into a full-blown panic-attack. If he touched another hat, it would bring to mind the loss of Cadmea, never mind the years between.

The past day at market with the old gypsy and the stuffed rabbit had only solidified his fear. What had he become that he could not afford the cost of a small fur stuffed with batting? Yes, he'd sworn off manipulation and thieving, and it had been _easy_ , a joy even, to become a better father to his ten-year old Grace - but why the ever-loving _fuck_ did goodness have to come at such a dear price that he could not offer his daughter the trifles other children - children such as he'd once been - so took for granted?

So he took it upon himself to ignore the siren call of the queen's offer, and set about searching his home for odd bits and pieces in which to fashion a stuffed rabbit for Grace - and she loved it. She took it to her tender young heart with no hesitation, just as delighted - if not more so - that he'd made it with his own hands instead of purchasing the fancy one from the gypsy.

But the seed of doubt had settled - day by day it grew, forcing more distance between his heart and his head, his instinct and his reason.

Would it truly be so bad to do this one small job? Even though it was in the dreaded and despised land of Wonder? Priscilla had died there, yes, but...he knew Wonderland and it's tricks, that was a bonus. It would make the job easier and quicker. In and out, right? And Grace would be settled with enough wealth for life.

The part of Jefferson that was the portal-jumper, the thief, the _villain_ , laughed at him while he tried to reason, to justify taking on the job. That part of him knew it was the worst idea he'd had since leaving Cadmea, but being a villain after all, it did little to talk him out of it.

And so Jefferson eventually threw caution to the wind in favor of soothing his pride and providing for his daughter, and accepted the evil queen's offer.

Sadly, despite Wonderland's own Queen of Hearts and her attempt to behead him, he _would_ live to regret it.

* * *

Returning to Wonderland was indeed, the worst thing he ever could have done. The Bitch Queen stranded him, left him there, bald-faced _lied_ to him - and he was taken away by the guards and bloody _beheaded!_ He was ordered by the silent Queen of Hearts to reproduce his beloved hat, to no avail, and eventually, when he was the joke of the castle, the "Mad Hatter", reduced to an over-stuffed workroom and stone-cold tea, the bored Queen saw no true magic forthcoming from his dextrous fingers, and she carelessly allowed his movement around the castle and Tulgey Wood.

 _It would be in Tulgey Wood that he would meet the secretive denizens of Wonderland, and take up shop in Maddie's old hut - but Maddie was gone, exiled just by days before his arrival, and what's more, she'd had a child by him, and that child just happened to be Grace. His Grace, who'd somehow been adopted by his late wife Priscilla, who'd had no idea the babe really was of his get. The details and circumstances were enough to send a sane man mad. And they had..._

Only the White Rabbit came to tea that particular day, and Jefferson was already annoyed. He did not have the patience to listen to the absurdly calm creature, and made it well known.

"Someday you shall leave here, and on that day you may reunite with your daughter - perhaps even Maddie."

Stabbing a hole through the worn tablecloth with his shears - lovely wicked chased silver things, shears that had lately been Maddie's, he been informed by the dour cat - Jefferson hissed with impatience.

"You make it sound so _simple_. Obviously you've never had a child of your own," Jefferson commented disdainfully, twisting the shears into the wood right along with the downward twist in his lips.

"Untrue!" The Rabbit protested vehemently. "The Cat and I, and the Dormouse too, we alI cared for the Seamstress while she carried your child - we saw her through the difficulties of birth and did what we thought best for them both by separating them. The Seamstress was in no sound mental place to raise a babe, even by Wonderland's standards. If you tell me you do not think I had worries that kept me awake nights, you are wrong, lad."

Jefferson felt like wrenching on his hair again - with as much witless pulling on it as he'd done lately, he'd either grow it out like the infamous Rapunzle or go bald within another fortnight. "You don't understand that I left her. I _left_ Grace, and she'll wonder what happened to me - she'll think - _God_ , she'll hate me. _They'll_ hate me. I'm fucking cursed! I'm always leaving the people I care for. It's my fault she's in such trouble. I just left her there, alone and now I'm stuck here, a-and all I can do is drink tea and have ridiculous chats with animals wearing tiny clothes, and _I'm_ _mad_! Don't you get it?! I'm the one who's supposed to keep things - _keep us_ \- together! _She'll hate me!_ "

"Calm yourself, lad."

Jefferson actually bared his teeth at the rabbit.

The Rabbit simply 'tsk'd' at him and went on patiently. "The Seamstress held no ill will toward you when _you_ left her for good, and Grace is her mother's daughter after all."

Jefferson sneered. _"'Her mother's daughter'?_ Maddie was _insane!_ Grace has never shown any hint of holding that madness within her. "

The Rabbit sighed. "Everyone holds madness within them, Hatter - all it takes to set it free is a matter of circumstance - yours, for example, was brought on by a combination of things. You cannot disdain a thing while succumbing to it, willing or no. Makes a man naught but a hypocrite!"

" _My-Grace-is-not-mad,"_ Jefferson bit out, tossing aside the shears to fist his work-scarred hands in the much-abused tablecloth.

The Rabbit shrugged. "There are many different kinds of madness, Hatter, not all of it bad - a bit of nonsense here and there can be cathartic - and before you blow your top, there is good reason to believe your Grace won't even miss you."

Blue eyes widening enormously, Jefferson straightened in his chair indignantly, swiping his mess of overlong curls from his cheek. He briefly recalled the insistence with which Grace demanded her stuffed white rabbit accompany them to tea...

"Odds are," the White Rabbit continued reasonably, "she won't even know you've been gone. Not really. Not for any substantial amount of time."

Jefferson frowned. "How is that even possible?"

"This _is_ Wonderland, my boy! Time moves in mysterious ways here. For instance - how many days do you make since you were abandoned here?"

Jefferson's lips began to tug up at one corner - what ridiculous kind of question was that? Of course he knew, it had been... _wait…_

He closed his eyes and tried to think of how many sunsets he'd seen since the Evil Queen had left. When he couldn't put a distinct number to them, he tried sunrises instead. Then he simply tried to count how many teas he'd been to…

"C'mon, concentrate, you _useless_ fuck!" he growled at himself, blue eyes snapping open in frustrated anger.

"Please, language, Hatter!" the Rabbit mumbled, skin reddening under his fur.

Lips hanging open, Jefferson's eyes shot to the red of the White Rabbit's with a terrified stare.

"I-I can't remember."

The Rabbit nodded. "Just so. As I said, time moves differently here, Jefferson-lad. Above all, it will always have it's way. When you return, there is every likelihood it will be as if you've never been gone - or, you may have been gone so long - "

" _Don't!"_ Jefferson snapped, dropping his eyes to stare fixedly into his faded tea cup. He kept them focused and wide-stretched in a mighty effort not to cry like a frustrated youth. "If you were trying to comfort me, you've _failed_."

The White Rabbit sniffed and stood, hopping down from his chair. He took out his watch and tittered at the position of it's twisted hands, and carefully put it away in his waistcoat pocket again.

"I was just attempting to be helpful. I did not seek to offer the Seamstress false comfort before her exile and she appreciated it all the more. You've lost everything you knew. You are _mad_ , Hatter, hopelessly so, and when you are truly mad there is no true comfort to be had."

Jefferson curled his lips back and set his jaw in hostile response, especially at the mention of Maddie, but did not look up. It enraged him so when the animals would speak sometimes, carrying on a perfectly sensible-sounding conversation yet twisting the words to make your mind wander and wonder at their meaning.

"If I am so very unpleasant today, then perhaps you will kindly shove off with your absurdly large watch to whomever it is the Queen is next sending you to harass."

The White Rabbit sighed. "Very well, I see I will get no further discussion from you today, Hatter, semi-rational or otherwise. Perhaps I will come to tea again some other time when you are in a better mood."

Jefferson allowed the rabbit to take his leave without uttering another word - there was no use, for any he could utter would be ugly and prompted by violent feelings. He was in no mood to pretend to be civil and sane.

Once he was alone at the long, rickety wood table he'd set up in the little clearing, the very same clearing he'd first met Maddie in, the place where he'd helped create his Grace, he stood and snatched the cloth from it and then flipped it, making a satisfying racket that scared the birds from the trees and sent the bread-and-butterflies fluttering from the nearby flowering bushes.

The Cat and the Dormouse stayed far away that day.

* * *

The Seamstress tumbled from the air into another wood, and long stood gazing into it's dark wood was not the one where she'd made her home so comfortably - it was dark and impenetrable in places, not a friendly place to be - but even without her shears she was in no mood to be trifled with. She could be quite unfriendly herself.

Then she came face to face with the troll - and to be honest, she could not have drawn a different name for the golden, magic-drenched creature from her tattered memory. Trolls were slight of build, quick-of-hand, steeped in old magic and greedy beyond man's understanding.

This particular troll seemed quite impatient indeed, and not at all happy to have run into her.

"D-does this mean you know me?" she asked in awe as she interrupted the beasts' pitchy rant, and the fierce creature looked upon her with surprise and then a sort of guilty displeasure before her flicked a finger and she knew no more.

* * *

When Cadmea Metaxas was found Wandering his forest, far, far outside Wonderland by Rumplestiltskin, he cursed the tug of magic from their old bond that had brought his attention to her, and immediately thrust her into a dreamless sleep-state in a cell in the old Lunatic Asylum - things were beginning to fall apart in the Enchanted Forest, and he could not afford for the wild thing she had become to be discovered and traced back to him. If Belle knew what he had done, taking her heart, relieving her of her senses and her chance at True Love, he would be ruined. Belle had forgiven many things, but the very lopsided trade of a Pure Heart...she would be wounded beyond his ability for apologies.

But he could not go back on his word and return it to her, not now, not when so many things of a dark nature lay upon the horizon. Not when he could use the considerable magic he'd gained from their deal to hold something over the Dark Queen's ever-scheming head.

Cadmea would just have to wait to be reunited with her turncoat thief of a lover - but the irony of Jefferson being trapped in Wonderland mere days after her exile did not escape his notice. To be parted from their daughter as well, well...something in their world really did have it in for those two.

* * *

 _A/N: I guess that something is me. Bwaha-ha! J/K But I do want to apologize for the single chapter this post. I haven't gotten had much time to write lately, and trying to figure out how to get so much information into this chapter - ergh. But. Things should move along smoothly now, and we will get to see more characters from here on out. I'll keep writing whenever I can and post ASAP. THANK YOU to everyone who reads and those who comment. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter._


End file.
